A Promise for Christmas
by Tairi Soraryu
Summary: Christmas is for dreams, and dreamers. Squall stopped believing in magic years ago. When a disaster threatens Esthar, can Squall come to terms with his own inner demons to protect this most sacred holiday? Chap. 11 up.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All rights to Final Fantasy VIII belong to Squaresoft. Thanks to w-inds. For their songs—"yakusoku no kakera" (Fragments of Promises), credits to lyricists Kiyohito Komatsu and Shungo; "izayoi no tsuki" (Moon of the 16th Night), credits to lyricist Shungo. Translations by me, thanks to ogachivVrio of www . idolthoughts . com for cross-check of "yakusoku no kakera".

**A Promise for Christmas  
Prologue**

_Even if I wish for you, it's an unreachable thought  
Even if I believe in it, it's a wish that doesn't come true  
And even though I understood,  
I continued to wait for you…_

* * *

_The little boy ran down the quiet path past marble columns half-overgrown with ivy and crumbling with abuse and age. There was a pen clutched in one hand, a sheaf of papers in the other, and he kept the loose pages tucked close to his chest, bending over as he ran to protect them from the light drizzle that slicked the stones beneath his sneakered feet and dewed in the unruly strands of his dark brown hair. He ducked off the path, slipping between two pillars and crouching down in the cool, shadowy darkness behind._

_His breath panted between parted lips, and he peered around the pillar to make sure nobody had followed him. There was a twinge of loneliness that whispered beneath the relief at the sight of the abandoned path, the stillness of the misty water in the air that drifted softly down to earth. Nobody ever followed him, not anymore. Sis was the only one who had ever followed him when he'd tried to run and hide; Sis was the only one who had cared enough to take his hand when he was sad and reassure him that things would be okay._

_Now Sis was gone, and _nothing_ was okay._

_The little boy scrubbed the sleeve of his worn dark green sweatshirt across a damp mark where water had splattered onto the paper despite his efforts to keep it dry before uncapping the pen and spreading the sheets of plain, lined notebook paper across his knees to write. Matron had taught them how to properly write a formal letter, and, in his best handwriting, he meticulously wrote the date in the upper right hand corner of the paper, skipped a line, and then began his letter._

Dear Santa, _he wrote._

I have been a good boy this year. I only fought with Seifer six times. This year for Christmas, I would like Sis back. I miss her a lot. Please find Sis and bring her back to our orphanage. This is all I want for Christmas.

Thank you.

Sincerely, Squall.

_He reread the letter again and again before folding it, carefully smoothing the crease, and fitted it into the single envelope he had taken from Matron's desk. He had felt guilty, stealing from Matron when she gave so much to them already, but he had justified his actions by telling himself that he couldn't very well send a letter to Santa without an envelope, right? The little boy nodded, confirming his thoughts, and carefully moistened the envelope seal with his tongue, pressing it firmly shut. On the front side of the envelope, he had written his return address in the corner and affixed a stamp. He wasn't sure how much it cost to send a letter to Santa Claus, but he could only hope his letter would reach him. Written in bold on the front cover were the words "Mr. Santa Claus, North Pole"._

_He lifted the envelope to eye level to critique it, then capped his pen. Now he would just have to slip it into the mail and hope Matron wouldn't find his letter before it went off to Santa. He didn't think Matron would be upset with him for writing to Santa, but he didn't want her to find it all the same. It was just too embarrassing to think of her discovering that he was asking Santa for something special for Christmas. In all the years past, he had never joined the other kids at the orphanage in writing to Santa, asking for things—when Matron asked, he'd said he would be happy with whatever Santa thought he might like. In reality, he knew Santa wouldn't be able to bring him anything that would make him happier than he was when he was with Sis. But this year, since Sis was gone, Santa could bring only one thing that could make him happy._

_That was Sis._

_The little boy hid the envelope in the sleeve of his oversized sweatshirt, then stood and stretched his cramped legs. It was a little bit chilly outside in the wet, and he knew that the other children were inside the orphanage, where it was nice and warm, drinking hot cocoa and playing board games or listening to Matron tell a story. He didn't like being with the other children all the time, though, even if it meant being uncomfortable in the damp outdoors. They were always looking at him, looking _up_ to him, for no good reason, and it made him unhappy. He didn't want them to look at him as if he were the leader, the responsible one. He didn't want anybody to depend on him the way he had depended on Sis._

_Because he didn't want anyone to have their heart broken the way his had when he'd been abandoned. He didn't want anyone else to be left behind the way he'd been._

_The little boy wiped his sleeve across his eyes before hugging the extra sheets of paper to his chest—maybe he could return them without getting caught—and hurrying back up the path towards the great stone building that had been home for as long as he could remember, sheltering him from inclement weather and the dangerous monsters that lurked without the protective stone walls surrounding the yard, offering him a place to live when he'd had nowhere to go and no one to love him._

_Santa didn't get his letter that year. The little boy had to pretend to be happy when he unwrapped the silver-and-gold paper to reveal a toy model of a red flying space machine in the form of a dragon. He had to admit that it _was_ pretty cool. At any rate, it was much better than the book Seifer got—_PuPu's Adventures in Centra.

_But it wasn't Sis._

_He put two stamps on the letter to Santa the next year and sent it a week earlier—just in case there hadn't been enough postage to cover the cost of sending the letter all the way to Santa's house, just in case he hadn't sent it early enough the first time. But that year he got a stuffed animal with a book about the first GF summon. All the kids got stuffed animals that year—Selphie named her Moomba "Moombie", which made her the target of Zell's jokes about her 'lack of creativity', but at least Squall didn't have to worry about naming his—his came pre-named as 'Griever'. The accompanying booklet was pretty interesting, and Squall had reread it and memorized its contents in three days._

_But it still wasn't Sis._

_He tried again the next year, and the year after that, and the year after that. But by the end, by the time he left the orphanage to enlist at Balamb Garden and train to become a SeeD, the little boy had decided that Santa didn't exist and that Christmas, for all its sparkly lights and festive cheer, wasn't worth believing in._

_Santa didn't listen to his requests, he thought, so he was going to stop asking._

_Just for you  
It's a melody that can't be sung a second time  
On that day, without saying "good-bye"  
I was separated from you…_

* * *

12.23.05

Edited: 9.18.07


	2. Chapter One

**A Promise for Christmas  
Chapter One  
**

* * *

Christmas makes people crazy. Love makes people make utter fools of themselves, but the holiday season makes people completely lose control of their sanity. A little bit of sparkly lights on the rooflines, a marathon of fancy TV commercials promoting any number of useless and extraneous and outrageously priced items, and those repetitive and mindlessly catchy carols playing everywhere, and you can just kiss normalcy and rational behavior good-bye.

That's the only explanation possible for my behavior. There are reports to finish, disciplinary referrals to review, work order requests to approve or deny, and endless SeeD applications to read, but instead of doing any of that, I'm sitting here waiting for my girlfriend so we can go shopping.

…Christmas shopping.

This year, Rinoa decided that we would buy gifts for our friends together—that is, we'll buy them their presents as a 'couple', rather than each of us individually. When I say 'decided', I mean that she sort of asked me if I thought we had progressed enough in our relationship to be able to take this step of sharing the buying and giving of gifts. Rinoa's sweet, but she's not all that sneaky, no matter what she thinks; but that's something I think I'll keep to myself.

Really, it doesn't matter to me how we do Christmas presents. I only get them for my friends because they expect it, and because it'd be rude not to. Besides, last year Rinoa had them each write down what they wanted from me. All I had to do was go out and buy them and wrap them, so it wasn't much of a hassle. We always exchange gifts on Christmas afternoon; we grew up in an orphanage, after all, so none of us have real 'family' we'd rather spend the day with. Except for Zell, he spends with his ma and da, but everyone comes back to Balamb Garden for what I guess you could call our 'traditional' Christmas day party.

A few years back, Selphie moved back to Trabia, and Irvine went with her, but they'll be coming down a few days before Christmas and will be staying until after the New Year's. How Selphie manages to take off that much time from work, I don't know, but I know Rinoa is really looking forward to seeing them again. Friends are really important to Rinoa.

Traditions aren't bad, I suppose, all in all. It's sort of nice to have something to look forward to, once a year or so, when we all get together, just the six of us—and Angelo, of course, with a new bone to chew on, all decked out with a soon-to-be-mangled red bow tied around the middle—talking about old times. We don't have very many 'old times' to talk about—there weren't many things we shared when we were younger, and there are fewer things that we actually remember, and, in any case, Rinoa wasn't around until just five years ago. So we talk a lot about newer times. And it's more than 'sort of' just nice that we're making so many memories together.

Not that I'd ever admit it aloud, but I like it. I'm still afraid of becoming too attached, of becoming too dependent and of losing them all in the end. But sometimes, there are things stronger even than fear.

* * *

Rinoa knocked on Squall's door, shifting the weight of the heavy bags slung over her shoulders. If she had dropped in on Squall unannounced, she'd have set her bags down while she waited for him to answer the door. Squall had a tendency to entrench himself so deeply in work when he wasn't expecting company that he wouldn't always answer the doorbell—he wouldn't even _hear_ the doorbell or her insistent knocking—for three, four rings. But since they'd arranged for her to come to his room, Squall would come let her in almost before she'd finished depressing the buzzer.

Sure enough, the door opened even as Rinoa was lowering her hand from the doorbell, and she lifted her eyes to meet Squall's, tipping back her head to smile up at him. "Hello!" she greeted cheerily. "Ready to go?"

"How long do you think we're going to be staying there?" Squall didn't return the greeting, but he reached out nonetheless to grab the larger and heavier of the two duffel bags Rinoa was carrying, lifting it easily to relieve her of the burden. He turned back into the small front living room of his apartment, assuming, obviously, that Rinoa would follow him and close the door behind her. "How much _stuff_ are you bringing?"

Despite the mocking overtone of his words, which could have been completely derogatory and mean, there was something that was just so _Squall_ about the comments that Rinoa couldn't find it in herself to be affronted. Besides, when he dropped the bag onto the small sofa and turned to pull her into his arms before she could think of a particularly scathing comeback—or even a plausible response explaining her need to over-pack—and touched his mouth to hers, she didn't think it was quite appropriate to protest.

"Good morning, Rinoa," Squall replied finally as he pulled back and smiled faintly at her. She couldn't think of anything worth saying in response, and Rinoa had to blink to focus again on his face, noting as she did so the lazy content in his deep sapphire eyes as his hands slid lightly over her hips in a casual caress. "Let me go grab my jacket."

Rinoa had to lower herself onto the couch beside her bag, her knees still just a little bit wobbly in reaction to the warmth of Squall's greeting. It still took her breath away at times, the openness and utter vulnerability he allowed himself to show around her when they were alone. He hadn't quite gotten to the point where unabashed public displays of affection didn't embarrass him anymore—he still evaded them whenever possible, and, where it was unavoidable, always extricated himself as quickly as he could manage—but that was, after all, just Squall. And Rinoa didn't mind that so much, because as long as the doors were closed, Squall was most definitely not shy about showing his emotions.

He came back from the bedroom at the back of the living room, wearing a longish black coat over his gray-blue shirt and black pants with a medium-sized travel bag in tow. The look Squall sent the two stuffed duffel bags and the single large, lumpy shopping bag Rinoa had with her said it all, and she blushed and tried to explain the need for everything she was bringing.

"Well, I have to take a lot more stuff than you do, you know, you minimalist. I can't survive in the same pair of pants for days on end without changing, and you don't need to take hairdryers and makeup and all that. At least, I _hope_ you don't have to." Rinoa slanted Squall a teasing glance as she got to her feet to reclaim her packages. "And the packages in the shopping bag aren't for me, they're presents for my friends and stuff. Since we'll be in Galbadia, I thought maybe we could run down to Timber one day so I could see Zone and Watts and everyone…"

She trailed off, realizing that it she should have asked him earlier if that would be okay. It was only because of her that Squall was going to Deling City to spend a few days of the busy holiday season with her father. There were moments when Rinoa still felt guilty for taking up so much of Squall's time, time that could have been spent—she couldn't quite bring herself to think that it was time 'better' spent—on the many different administrative needs of Garden. She knew that Squall, being Squall, would never hesitate to let her know if she was being a nuisance or interfering with his ability to do his work, but Rinoa also knew that taking care of their relationship was a huge drain on his time and energies.

It was a true testament to how much their relationship meant to him that Squall diligently invested in it as much as he did, devoting himself to spending time with her with the same level of intensity as he did all the tasks confronting him. It meant so much more to Rinoa to know that Squall never thought of their relationship as an obligation of any sort, that he so willingly shared with her. The small things, the big things, each one was important to him, and therefore all the more precious to Rinoa that he would entrust her with his memories, few and far between as they were; his hopes and dreams, his fears.

"You want to run down to Timber?" Squall arched one eyebrow sardonically, and Rinoa was already reaching out to give him a shove in the shoulder in rebuke for his next words. "_You_ can run from Deling City to Timber; _I'll_ take a train. Hey." He kept his balance as she pushed him—no big surprise; this was Squall of the catlike grace and inhuman reflexes she was talking about—and leaned down to sling the larger of her duffel bags over his shoulder, grabbing the bag of gifts and heading for the door. "Come on, or we'll miss the boat."

"Wait!" Rinoa was laughing in protest as she hurried to catch up to Squall as he made as if to leave her behind. He paused by the door, one hand on the handle, and turned to wait for her to shoulder her other bag and hurry towards him. "You'd just leave me behind, wouldn't you?"

Squall's expression was all too innocent as he met her gaze blandly. "Of course. It's what I dream about most at night." Rinoa caught up to him by the door, and Squall managed to wrap his arms around her waist without undue discomfort due to the bags in his arms, tugging her forward to fit her body against his. His lips curved upwards as he lowered his mouth to hers for another lingering kiss before he swung the door open. "I'd never leave you behind, Rinoa. What would I do without you?"

There was nothing she could think of to say in response to that, and Rinoa was quiet on the car ride to Balamb, the only sound in the property-of-Garden vehicle the low murmur of the radio in the background. She was still quiet as Squall parked in the public lot by the docks, unloading the trunk and tossing the keys to the junior SeeD who was waiting and would return the car to Garden. And she was quiet even as they boarded the ship that would take them across the water to Dollet, where they would catch the train for the final leg of their journey, taking them into Deling City just after midday.

It was just as well that Squall wasn't the most talkative of companions, because Rinoa wasn't sure how she was supposed to react to his statement. Of course, the logical response would be to move on, but Rinoa couldn't help but dwell on it, running the words over and over in her brain. Squall so rarely joked around, even more rarely made a joke about _them_—about their relationship, about his feelings for her—and Rinoa was never quite sure what he wanted her to do or say in response.

They had an hour layover in Dollet, but there wasn't much opportunity for them to enjoy the city. Rinoa didn't want to have to drag all her bags around with her, even with Squall's offer to carry them for her, and Squall was naturally skeptical of the reliability of the lockers provided for rent at the train station. So instead they ended up on a bench in a quiet corner of the train station, their bags tucked under the seat and on the empty space beside them, just passing the time in comfortable silence until their train arrived.

Rinoa rummaged through her bags, finally coming up with one of the light reading books she'd packed away for any downtime on the trip; she wasn't sure how long she could keep herself entertained with her only Squall and her father as company. A glance to her left confirmed her assumption that Squall was industriously slogging through some sort of official-looking files, a pen grasped loosely between the fingers of his right hand as he read over the contents of the packet of information before him.

"I hope you remember which bus we have to take to get to your father's house."

Squall's unexpected statement, out of the blue as it was, startled Rinoa, and she nearly jumped in surprise, tearing her attention away from her novel. "Huh?"

Squall tilted his head slightly to one side, a barely perceptible motion that Rinoa found insanely endearing. "The bus to get from the train station to your father's house. I hope you remember which one we're supposed to take."

Rinoa couldn't stop the expression of open-mouthed astonishment from crossing her face. "I thought you knew. I didn't even think to look it up before we left. You don't remember from before? When we were there on assignment from Garden for Sorceress Edea?"

"Rinoa." There was mild amusement and the slightest hint of defensive protest in Squall's voice as he said, "That was five years ago. Am I supposed to remember something like the bus line to your house from five years ago?" He shook his head slightly. "It's not such a big deal. We can look it up on the bus schedule when we get to the City."

"Yeah." Rinoa couldn't help the discouragement seeping into her voice. It was a shock, and a little disappointing, for reasons Rinoa couldn't quite fathom, that Squall hadn't been as fully prepared for this trip as he would have had it been a SeeD mission—Squall, who always knew _everything_. Not that she wanted him to treat a holiday visit to her father as he would have a paid mission, but…Rinoa wasn't sure _what_ it was she wanted, exactly. But she'd wanted everything to go as smoothly as possible, she supposed. They were going to spend four days with the General for the holidays; she didn't want any additional bumps in the road on what couldn't be anything less than the single most stressful trip of her entire life.

But she couldn't quite stop herself from adding with a sly, sideways smirk, "Or we could just ask for directions."

He might have once had a Garden-wide reputation for being a lone wolf; he might have once held the title as most unapproachable student in Balamb; but Squall couldn't hide the wince of distaste that crossed his face at Rinoa's words. "Please. We're not _that_ desperate."

Squall's typically male reaction to the idea of stooping to the levels of admitting the fact that he was lost made Rinoa laugh, and she took the opportunity, while he was distracted by his disgust at her suggestion, to scoot closer to his side so that their shoulders bumped. It was as close as she dared in public without scaring Squall into moving further away, and she was mildly surprised—Rinoa supposed a more appropriate word for it would have been 'shocked beyond belief'—when he leaned towards her, resting his head briefly against hers.

"I assume we're going to the General's house before we go out shopping?"

Rinoa nodded. "I think it'd be impolite to arrive in the City and head out before at least going to say hello. Besides, I don't want to be lugging my bags in downtown Deling City. It's going to be packed this close to Christmas, and, as I'm sure you know, my bags are really heavy." She sighed in resignation. "I don't much _want_ to, but he is letting us spend four nights with him—not that he doesn't have the space to spare in that huge mansion of his." Rinoa made a face. "Well, that's his business. I just hope things will go okay."

Squall patted her knee, awkwardly at first, in reassurance. "What are you going to call him?" As long as he'd known her, Rinoa had only ever referred to General Caraway as either 'that man' or 'the General'. He wouldn't have pressed the matter—hell, he was in no position to be commenting on Rinoa's relationship with her only living parental relation, seeing as how he hadn't spoken to his own father in…there was a reason Squally didn't count how long it had been since he'd last spoken to Laguna—but for the fact that Rinoa not knowing what to call her father to his face would most definitely interfere with her wish that things go 'okay' between them.

"Call him?" Rinoa wrinkled her nose. "Can't I just not call him anything?" She didn't have to meet Squall's gaze to know he had the Look of Disapproval in his eyes, and she sighed. "I know, I know, you don't have to give me that look. I guess I have to call him 'Dad'. 'Father' sounds too stiff, and I think the last time I called him 'Daddy' I was three. Maybe younger." She shot Squall a look. "What do _you_ call your father?"

Squall didn't flinch. "I don't call him anything." He stoically took the punch she landed on his arm and waited for her outburst to subside before elaborating, "The last time I spoke to him, it was on official business—a request for a SeeD escort as additional bodyguards for him or something—and that was last February. It doesn't much matter what I call him, either, because I didn't decide suddenly that I wanted to repair any past misunderstandings between us and visit him for half a week, which, if I may point out, is something more along your line of thinking."

"All right, all right." Rinoa gave up pretending to pout, unable to prevent the chagrined smile that took over. She cocked her head thoughtfully and said, "You never had a chance to call Laguna anything when you were little, did you? Do you know how old you were when he left to look for Ellone?"

Something almost mutinous crossed Squall's face, something dark and utterly foreign, something closed-off and remote, and Rinoa had to blink in surprise and sheer lack of recognition at the strange expression. It flickered across his face fast as lightning, there and gone almost before Rinoa could identify it; his expression quickly settled again into his normal countenance of a half-bored indifference, leaving Rinoa to wonder if she'd only imagined what she'd seen. "We've never talked about the details. But I'd say it wouldn't be inaccurate to assume that we saw each other for the first time face-to-face when I took you to Esthar to see Dr. Odine. I don't know if he even knew my name. I don't even know if he knew he had a son."

_Oh, Squall._ Pity, compassion, and a sorrow so acute it felt as if something where pinching Rinoa's heart stirred inside her at the desolation she could all but feel sweeping through him as he said the words. There was nothing in his tone—emotionless and inexpressive—that would have indicated anything but a complete unconcern of his father's abandonment of him as a child. But it was the very fact that there was an absolute lack of _anything_ that said more than words ever could have. There should have been something there, something; at the very least, bitterness, disappointment, hurt…Any number of emotions that Squall was an expert at hiding and Rinoa was an expert at reading.

But this…Rinoa couldn't read anything from him, leaving her to conclude that there either was nothing between them—something she couldn't imagine; what child wouldn't feel abandoned, unloved, unwanted when his own father didn't know he existed until he was seventeen?—or Squall had been repressing his feelings for so long he'd convinced himself it was the truth.

It wasn't her place, it wasn't the time, to try to bring up old and painful memories, and Rinoa decided not to pursue the matter further. Instead she managed a smile for him as the ground beneath their feet rumbled. She cast a glance at the large clock on the wall over the main entrance to the station, then at the train pulling up to Platform Two. "That's our train."

Squall meticulously replaced his papers in the appropriate section of his bag, tucking away his pen and zipping up the compartment before standing and gathering up their belongings. "Ready?" His fingers brushed lightly over the back of her wrist as they headed towards the appropriate train station, safely hidden from view of the other passengers beginning to congregate around the platform in anticipation of the call to board. "This is it."

Rinoa sucked in a deep breath as he reached into his back pocket for the tickets he'd bought weeks in advance, as soon as Rinoa had first finalized their plans to come and had committed herself to the idea. "Ready." Squall reached around her to show their tickets to the uniformed man standing beside the steps up onto the car, then let Rinoa precede him into the small reception area in the front of the train. "Here we go."

"Yeah," Squall agreed, and entered the ticket number into the little machine beside the door to allow them access down the hall into their private room. His status as Commander of Garden was sometimes a hassle, but there were moments when it definitely came in handy, too. Making train reservations was one of them; always having a private room available, no matter when he was traveling, was another. He could do without the automated readout thanking him politely for his patronage and referring to him by his official title, but it was a minor annoyance he was willing to put up with for the other comforts that came with the job description.

He packed their bags into the provided storage area to keep them from sliding around should they need to make any unexpected stops—a precaution the train P.A. systems always touted at the beginning of every trip and most passengers ignored. Squall couldn't see why the train would need to make any 'unexpected stops', but he tucked their bags away and secured the hatch shut before following Rinoa to the sofa and sitting down beside her. Since they were alone, and the door was shut, he allowed her to snuggle under the arm he draped across the back of the couch, resting her head in the slight hollow between his shoulder and neck.

They both drifted off, lulled by the sound of the train engine and the monotonous sound of the wheels on the tracks. It was so safe and warm in Squall's arms, and Rinoa turned towards him, cuddling closer as she slid deeper into sleep. It was nice to just take a few minutes to herself, for themselves, a small pocket of relief amid the daily stresses of life and the hectic pace of the holiday season. Rinoa knew that this planned visit to her father wouldn't be the most relaxing of vacations. They had been at odds with each other since her childhood, so this trip was as much a daughter's duty to her father at the holidays as Rinoa's seeking for a sort of healing, a bridging, of the rift that had split them for so long. Perhaps it was an ill-planned idea, the hasty decision of a willful child; perhaps it was her selfishness in wanting more than General Caraway was willing, or had, to offer.

Whatever it was, Rinoa was glad for the respite, hidden from time in the little train car with Squall's arm hugging around her shoulders. It seemed shorter than it was; it felt as if she'd just closed her eyes when she felt Squall shaking her gently to wake her. "Rinoa, we're in Deling City now. Rinoa, wake up." His hand stroked lightly over her cheek, and Rinoa mumbled a sleepy protest even as her eyes opened slowly and she focused blearily on his face, bent over close to hers. He smiled softly at her and ran his fingers through her hair. "We're here."

Squall pulled their luggage out of the storage area as Rinoa sat up straighter, rubbing her eyes and drawing her knees to her chest as she watched him move. There were times when the question Squall had asked her earlier ran through her head, but in all seriousness.

_What would I do without you, Squall?_ She thought as she stood, smiling at him as he hefted their bags and nudged open the door with his foot to prop it open for her. _Where would I be if you weren't there for me?_

_What would I do?_

* * *

12.27.05

Edited: 9.18.07 (grammar)


	3. Chapter Two

**A Promise for Christmas  
Chapter Two**

* * *

I don't know why I wanted to come to Deling City. It's the week before Christmas; I have shopping to do for my friends, decorations to finish putting up, and work to do in Garden. It was mostly accidental that I took on this job with Headmaster Cid as a sort of admin and public relations type assistant. The poor man has some great ideas for the future of Garden and of SeeD, but he's not too good at expressing those ideas.

At first I helped him out on a voluntary basis, offering to organize his notes in preparation for one press conference regarding Balamb Garden's official response to the reopening of the continent of Esthar to the rest of the world. After that, it became more and more frequent that I would accompany him on official Garden business. Now I work in his office three days a week; I also am the contact person for the less military-related aspects of Garden's involvement in the world's affairs, but Cid is nice enough to let me work from my own room if I don't need to be in the office directly. I help schedule and plan, for example, SeeD appearances in parades and festivals, and if anyone has a request for SeeDs or SeeD equipment—Ragnarok is our most popular request, for wedding receptions in space and for sweet sixteen parties and the like—I'm the person they talk to. Squall couldn't care less about what he considers frivolous requests like that, and Cid can't keep all these things straight, so I ended up being the one who organized these things.

Personally, I'd like to have my wedding reception on earth, because this is where I'm going to live, so this is where I'd like most of my memories. Not that I don't have some good memories of being in space. Coming close to dying doesn't rank that highly, but Ragnarok was where Squall and I first…I don't know what to call it, really.

It was on the Ragnarok, drifting in space, thinking that I was never going to see solid ground again, that I think I first realized I loved him.

Of course, I wouldn't _mind_ having a wedding on Ragnarok, as long as we had the interior cleaned and decorated appropriately. I'm thinking blue and white, maybe with pale gold and burgundy-red for the flowers as accents. Of course, it is a little early to be thinking that far ahead. The only man I'd ever think of marrying would be Squall, and even though we've been 'going out'—what a silly and wholly inappropriate term, thoroughly incapable of encompassing everything we share and everything we've been through together—for five years, it's still too soon to be thinking about something like marriage.

But that's beside the point. What's important is that Squall is here with me now. He's taking the time out of his busy schedule to make this trip with me, and that's what matters. I don't know if I'll manage to make anything out of this; I don't know if it will mean anything to either my father or to me that I came here now. I don't know if anything will come of this, good or bad. But I do know that, right now, this is what I want to do, no matter how hard it's going to be.

No matter how hard it is, it won't be more than I can handle. Because Squall's here with me, I know I can do this.

* * *

As it turned out, there was only one real bus line serving the entire city of Deling, which Squall, being Squall, had to comment on—what kind of capital city only had _one bus line_ to service the entire area? Of course, Rinoa had to point out, argumentatively, that Balamb didn't have any busses, to which Squall retorted that Balamb wasn't big enough to need busses. But when a country boasted having long-range missiles that could destroy any city in the world, he continued, it should at least have a working bus line servicing the city so that anyone who wanted to take the public transportation could do so without having to ask for assistance from the uniformed city employees standing at each bus stop. Rinoa decided to bite her tongue against the obvious retort that military superiority and citywide bus lines were completely unrelated services a country could boast.

Squall, she was sure, wouldn't appreciate the input.

They made it to Caraway's house with minimal frustration, though; Squall stood back and grumbled under his breath about the absurdity of the need to speak to someone to find the right bus line as Rinoa approached the first bus station employee they saw to ask for the appropriate bus to take to reach the upper-class neighborhood where the retired military leader lived. It was a ten-minute ride across the city to reach the outskirts of the quiet neighborhood where Rinoa supposed she could say she'd grown up. Most of her memories, though, weren't of this area, of the elegant houses set back from the road front behind decorative walls and lush expanses of lawns, of the pristine design and upkeep of landscape, the quiet, almost untouchable atmosphere that surrounded them as they walked from the bus stop along the streets towards Caraway's mansion.

"You're dragging your feet."

Once again, Squall's unexpected statement had Rinoa jumping in surprise, and she glanced over and up at him. They were walking side-by-side, Rinoa on the sidewalk and Squall matching her pace in the gutter beside her, and he was still taller than she was. "Not literally," he continued, seemingly unperturbed and at ease with the world. "But I can feel it."

Rinoa huffed out a breath. "You don't have to say 'I told you so, Rinoa', I know, I know, it was my idea to come in the first place. That doesn't mean I don't dread seeing him. I want things to go well…" She hugged her arms around her stomach as if the pressure could suppress the nervous butterflies doing the tango around her intestines. "I never thought he was important to me, but I never miss the idea of sitting around a Christmas tree opening presents with my family as much as I do around, well…Christmastime."

She'd expected Squall to laugh at her, at the obvious Rinoa-ness of the statement, and was more than mildly surprised when he merely shrugged, glancing across the street as if interested in the particular arrangement of flowers and decorative shrubs in front of the house they were passing. "You'll do fine. Even if things don't work out to be perfect in one day, things will turn out okay for you."

Squall's reassurances eased the sharpest edge of Rinoa's anxiety, but they also made her think that there was something more there, something deeper than just him commenting on her hopes to try to mend her differences with her father. But it would have been too simplistic to assume that he was wishing, on some level, for the same with his own father; whatever it was Squall felt for Laguna, whatever he wanted from the man who was and wasn't his father, wasn't the same as what was between Rinoa and Caraway.

Rinoa was here to mend past differences between her and her father. Squall had nothing _to_ mend with his, for the simple matter that Squall and Laguna…had nothing.

"Here we are."

Rinoa dragged herself from her thoughts to stand on the sidewalk in front of her father's house. It was, as she'd said before, a mansion—two stories tall, with an attic and a basement, with decorative columns supporting the roof of the front porch and artistically-wrought iron railings on the second-story balconies overlooking the street. The house looked as impregnable as the man who lived there, all cold stone and hard plaster, or whatever it was they used to build houses. Rinoa remembered, as a child, thinking that she lived in a castle with her mommy the queen. She couldn't remember if she'd ever thought her father was the king of the castle, but she knew she and her mother had often made-believe that she was Princess Rinoa, living together in their palace of joy.

The yard was expansive, as were the yards of all the houses on the block; the General's front walkway, though, didn't meander through the lawn and past ornamental fruit trees, dormant now for the winter, but cut straight through to the front porch. Rinoa's memories were muddled, recalling a time when she had once played in the front yard of her house under her mother's watchful eye; she remembered more of the back, with the willow tree, the playhouse in the branches of the large unidentifiable tree, the lake-like pool disguised as a natural pond with flat, unevenly-cut stones bordering the rim, where she had spent her later childhood years, playing unsupervised or with only one of the house maids to watch her.

"Come on." Squall put a hand on Rinoa's lower back to propel her reluctantly forward. "Before the neighbors see is standing here and decide to call the local authorities to have us arrested for loitering. Even the Balamb Garden Commander is only immune to so much." He dropped his hand only when Rinoa started to move on her own, stepping up to the porch and sucking in a deep, steadying breath before lifting her hand to press the doorbell.

The melodious echo of the chimes were fading when there was the faint sound of a lock sliding back on the other side of the door the moment before it swung inwards.

General Caraway stood in the doorway, as tall and imposing a figure as Squall remembered him from their last encounter, half a decade before when he had come to Deling City for the first time, in charge of a mission to assassinate Sorceress Edea and feeling like nothing more than a slack-jawed country boy come to gawk at all the sights and sounds and smells of a big city. There was more gray in his hair now, steel and silver threading through dark brown; there were more lines creasing his stern face, a weariness in his dark brown eyes that Squall hadn't noticed before. But despite those few and subtle changes, he was undoubtedly the same straight-backed man who had given Squall his orders to take down the sorceress at all costs.

He was wearing casual attire of soft, iron-gray slacks and a sweater of winter colors, blue and gray and white, but looked no less commanding a presence than when he had greeted Squall the first time, dressed in full formal attire of the Galbadian army. "Hello, Rinoa."

Rinoa's throat was tight, and she wished desperately that she could allow herself the show of weakness and hold onto Squall's hand. She knew if she just opened her clenched fingers and reached to her left, Squall's hand would be there. No matter how strong his aversion to public shows of affection, he was always there for her when she most needed him.

Instead, Rinoa forced her fingers to relax, smoothing her damp palms on the sides of her jeans, and managed a smile. "Happy holidays, Dad."

Caraway inclined his head graciously, stepping to the side to usher them into the expansive foyer. "Come in. I trust your trip was uneventful? Hello, Commander." He waited for them to step up into the house, closing the door and locking it behind them in an offhanded gesture that spoke of long-ingrained habit of precaution despite the obvious safety of the neighborhood he lived in, then extended his hand to Squall to shake. "Work treating you well?"

"It is, thank you, sir." Squall returned the handshake firmly, then stepped back to give Rinoa room to greet her father if she chose to. "And you?"

"I'm doing well enough, though it's a strange thing to wake in the morning and realize there's nowhere I need to be now that I've retired. And you? Have you been taking care of yourself?" Caraway directed this towards Rinoa, offering a hand to take her bag.

Rinoa hesitated before allowing him to grab the strap of her duffel bag, forcing herself not to tense as his fingers inadvertently brushed over her shoulder. She knew he was probably trying as hard as she was and that he didn't intend to sound…abrasive, but there was still something about the way he always spoke to her that made her feel as if she were six years again and being upbraided for one of the many infractions of the strict rules he'd imposed on the house after her mother's death.

It took all her willpower not to be offended by the patronizing tone of his voice and, instead, to say, "I've been well. I'm working at Balamb Garden now, sort of as assistant to Headmaster Cid." She wondered why she was telling him this, wondered why she thought he might care about what she was doing. What could she do that would possibly be of any interest to the former head of the entire Galbadian army?

At least he didn't dismiss her work as the flighty and insignificant whims of a child, instead setting down Rinoa's bag before straightening and saying, "Oh, really? Do you do office work, or is it something more specialized for the SeeD forces?"

"I work in his office three days a week, and when I'm not in the office itself, I work from home to schedule SeeD appearances and other non-military events. Our latest project is a comprehensive history of SeeD around the globe." Rinoa realized that her father probably thought she was bragging about her accomplishments—like a child trying to impress her father—and added as a sort of concluding note, "It's funny, but now I'm technically employed by Squall."

Caraway sent Squall a fathomless glance but merely said, "I hope you treat my daughter fairly, Commander." Squall accepted the statement with a grave nod, and before Rinoa could try to decipher the meaning of the silent exchange, Caraway continued, "I'm sure you're anxious to settle in. Even though I've officially retired from the army, they often contact me for consultation, and I just need to finish up a quick conference call here, so if you'll excuse me. Oh, Rinoa, I'm sure you can show Squall upstairs?" He was already walking back down the hall where Squall remembered his office was. "I'll be out in a few minutes. Make yourselves at home."

Rinoa restrained herself until they heard the click of the office door shutting behind him, then rounded on Squall with unbridled fury in her eyes, heating her cheeks. Her voice was a vicious hiss as she all but snarled at him. "Did you see that? Did you _see_ that?" She barely managed to keep her voice from escalating, and Squall could practically imagine her fisting her hands in her hair and yanking until clumps of it came loose from her scalp. "Of all the insufferable, arrogant, conceited, inconsiderate, workaholic losers on the face of this planet…"

"Rinoa, breathe." Squall had a distinct feeling he understood more about the situation than Rinoa did, but the foyer wasn't the best place to discuss it. He always remembered what one of his instructors had told him, a long time ago, when he was still a junior SeeD. '_A closed door,_' the man had said, the large, dark mustache on his upper lip moving like a limp beaver that had always fascinated Squall, '_does not a soundproof door make._' And Squall understood how sound in a silent house could amplify so that even the softest whisper could be as loud as a male Snow Lion's bellow.

"Let's go upstairs." He grabbed Rinoa's other bag, then herded her towards the grand staircase that swept up from the left side of the foyer, curving around to a large second floor landing that branched into two hallways, one to the east end of the house, one to the west. "Which way?"

Still fuming, Rinoa led the way down the east corridor, past a variety of half-closed doors, before pushing one open and entering what was obviously her bedroom. Squall followed her in, booting the door gently shut behind him, and gratefully dropped the heavy bags at the side of the bed covered in a sky blue comforter before reaching up to massage his shoulders. Rinoa dropped gracelessly onto the edge of the mattress but was up and pacing before Squall could join her, so he remained standing, shifting to follow her restless, angry movements.

"He _knew_ we were coming today! I told him weeks and weeks in advance, and then I wrote to him again the day before yesterday to remind him. How could he have scheduled a telephone conference for the same time that we arrived? And did you see? Did you _see_? The way he just left us so he could get back to work? What kind of hosting skills are those?"

Squall moved to stand in front of Rinoa, putting his hands on her shoulders and meeting her furious gaze with his own. He hoped Rinoa wouldn't take out her ire on him, because he knew what he was about to say wasn't going to damper her anger any. In fact, he was pretty sure he would only be adding fuel to the fire, but he spoke anyway.

"I think your father's lying about having a conference call." Squall watched first disgust, then a sort of 'see-I-told-you-he-was-no-good' look crossed her face; then he watched as it quickly dissipated and was replaced with a quite different expression at his next words. "Rinoa, I know you and your father don't get along too well. And I know, coming from me, this doesn't mean much. But I think your father is trying his best. I think the reason why he lied about having a call, why he told you to show me upstairs, was because that way he wouldn't have to ask you about your private sex life."

"My _what_?!" Rinoa's outraged outburst didn't surprise Squall, and she narrowed her eyes, fisting her hands on her hips as she glared up at him. "Why would he have any right to even think about asking me about my sex life? And I resent the unnecessary 'private' part of that; it's not like I have a _public_ sex life, too. Of the two of us, you're the more famous one, so you'd be the only one who'd potentially have a public sex life."

He kept his hands lightly on her shoulders, ready to restrain her if necessary. "I won't even answer that," he replied, then continued, "If your father were going to show me to a room, he'd have to have asked if I needed my own room or if I would be staying with you." Rinoa's expression shifted into one of mildly suspicious confusion; Squall supposed he should have been vaguely insulted that his girlfriend was eyeing him so disbelievingly, but he couldn't really blame her for her puzzlement. "You know. Whether we were going to be sleeping together or not while we were here. By having you bring me up, he gave us the privacy of making the decision without his needing to interfere in such a touchy matter."

"Oh." Rinoa blinked as understanding dawned on her, and she frowned as she had to hastily backpedal to reconsider her assessment of the situation. And discovering that her father wasn't the insensitive bigot she'd assumed wasn't a reason for celebration, but for a sort of…disappointment mingled with confusion as the very ground beneath her feet, the foundation beneath her instant attack on her father, began to crumble. "Oh."

Squall rubbed his hands over her shoulders. "It's all right." He stepped back, leaning over to pick up his bag. "How about you show me to my room, then, and we'll go back down to talk with your father. Are we going shopping today or tomorrow?"

"Or?" Rinoa felt her spirits pick up again at the prospect of getting out of the house. They had barely just arrived, but already she felt as if she were stifled, suffocating. Memories of a childhood so long ago left behind were already battering her down. "You've got the wrong conjunction there, Commander. That should be 'today _and_ tomorrow'."

It did her heart infinite good to see the wince of pain that crossed Squall's face as she showed him to the guest bedroom just down the hall from her room. She sat on the newly made bed as Squall, being Squall, set to work methodically unpacking his almost frighteningly organized bag, putting his neatly-folded shirts in the empty dresser drawers and hanging his jackets and pants in the closet. He put his traveling case of toiletries on the dresser top, his work folders and the latest model of compact portable computers from Esthar on the desk placed beneath the wide windows overlooking the expansive backyard, and then shut the closet doors on his now-empty suitcase.

"Are you done yet, Oh Anal-Retentive One?" Rinoa couldn't help but make a playful jab at Squall's super organizational skills as he turned back around to face her. "Would you like to unpack my bags for me, too? Perhaps organize my socks by color?"

Squall lifted one eyebrow sardonically at her and had to roll his eyes. "I wouldn't touch the contents of your bags for you if you _paid_ me, Princess." He knew the state her bags were in; Squall had seen Rinoa pack before, and it wasn't pretty. How the woman could survive with her clothes all jammed together in every which-way was a mystery to him, a mystery he didn't care to try to solve.

The glance he slanted her told her she hadn't gotten away with her earlier reference to his position as Commander. It was a running joke between them that she would call him by his formal title when she was irritated, and he would, in return, use her now little-used nickname 'Princess'. Squall knew it confounded their mutual friends, why he and Rinoa tended to snipe at each other, and he himself couldn't have fully explained it. It was just one of those little things they did, one of those things they shared.

Little things. Precious things.

"Besides," he continued expressionlessly. "I wasn't aware you wore rainbow-colored socks that needed to be organized by color. However, now that I have been fully appraised of the situation, I would be more than glad to show you how to properly store your footwear." Squall was laughing as Rinoa hopped off the bed to raise one fist, thumping it against his chest in protest that was only half in jest. "Come on." He wrapped his arms around her waist, still laughing, as he walked backwards towards the door. "The sooner we leave to go shopping, the sooner, I hope, we will be done."

Rinoa had to giggle at their strange waddle-like gait as Squall dipped his head to kiss her lightly before releasing her and reaching behind him, his hand unerringly finding the door handle and without fumbling. "Wishful thinking, Leonhart. Keep telling yourself that, though, maybe one day it will come true."

Squall let Rinoa keep her hold on his hands as they walked down the hall and down the stairs, only tugging to release his fingers from her light grasp when they reached the first floor landing and started down towards the General's office. He let Rinoa precede him a few steps towards the closed office door at the end of the hall and watched her back, her hair swaying slightly from side to side with each step, and had to smile affectionately at her, secure in the knowledge that she couldn't see him.

There were few things Squall wished for now. With all the current talk of holiday miracles, Squall was made all the more aware—thoroughly against his will, of course—of exactly how few things he wished for.

But those few things, he could only hope they really would, one day, come true.

* * *

12.27.05

Edited: 9.18.07 (grammar)


	4. Chapter Three

Author's Notes: The first half of this chapter is basically the same as before, with minor storyline edits. The ending is the first half of my original Chapter Four, if that makes any sense. I've finally gotten a better grip on where I want this story to go, so, keeping our fingers crossed, I'll get things rolling. Schedule permitting, of course. Thanks for your patience! Comments are, as always, much appreciated!

**A Promise for Christmas  
Chapter Three**

* * *

Squall was already awake and alert by the time his eyes opened early the next morning. He lay motionless for a moment as he took in his surroundings, the room with its classy, dark-colored furniture and blue-toned walls and pale cream carpet turned on its side. He rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling through the faint light just beginning to seep through the navy blue curtains drawn across the window. It was quiet in the house, the early morning stillness of a slumbering household hanging in the air, with only the barely perceptible hum of the heater in the background.

His internal clock read barely past six-thirty, and Squall groaned, yanking the blankets over his head as he shifted to bury his face in the pillow in a futile attempt to gain another few minutes of sleep. He barely felt rested, as if he'd woken up from a five-minute nap instead of having slept the entire night. Shopping with Rinoa was more tiring than a three-day battle marathon against Level 100 Ruby Dragons, more exhausting than wrestling unarmed with a Hexadragon. It was, Squall decided as he tossed back the covers and reluctantly swung his legs over the side of the bed, equivalent to tackling Omega Weapon bare-handed.

He was, put plainly, exhausted.

He'd planned on getting some work done the night before after they'd gotten back from downtown, laden with packages and bags and miscellaneous other…_things_. Rinoa had decided that the General's house didn't look 'festive' enough, so, along with the presents they'd picked up for most of their friends back at Garden, Rinoa had dragged him around to the various boutiques with their Christmas-themed sales for decorations and lights, pine-scented wreaths and garlands, candles that smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. They'd stopped at a restaurant downtown for dinner in-between rounds of shopping. The food had been decent, which had mollified Squall somewhat, but it wasn't good enough for the forty-minute wait they'd been forced to endure in the restaurant before a table opened up for them.

Commander status didn't win him everything.

They'd returned to the General's house around eleven at night; not too late by his standards, but Squall had barely had the energy to exchange pleasantries with Caraway, haul himself and the packages upstairs to Rinoa's room, kiss her good-night, and then stagger into his room and fall into bed. So, here he was, at six-thirty AM, booting up his computer so he could catch up on his work.

It was three days before Christmas, there were what looked like three hundred emails in his in folder, but by Hyne he would not start the day without caffeine.

As he wasn't about to walk down the hall in just the boxers he'd slept in, Squall moved to the dresser to pull out his clothes for the day. And if he was going to dress, he might as well shower first.

It was sort of pathetic, Squall thought as he pulled out the first shirt he grabbed—dark green—before heading towards the bathroom with his clothes over one arm. Here he was, Commander of Balamb Garden, and he was _tired_ after spending an afternoon walking around city streets. How was he supposed to fare against a full-scale onslaught?

"Must be getting old," Squall muttered, and had to shake his head at himself in amusement. He knew there was a vast difference between the energy taxation of shopping versus fighting; in one, there was drudgery and dullness and endless stores that were just 'too adorable' to pass by; in the other there was the rush of adrenaline, the roar of blood in his ears, the undeniable thrill as his life was put on the line, his skills pitted against those of his enemies.

Squall had never considered himself overfond of warfare, though he definitely wasn't one to shirk the battlefield when duty called. Zell, now Zell could spend hours in the Training Center for _fun_, and Irvine didn't much care for face-to-face, one-on-one combat—he was a sniper by profession and disposition, and would always prefer stealth in combat to all-out full-frontal assaults. It was only too bad he didn't extend that policy of tact to his womanizing habits…

Squall shook his head again and entered the bathroom adjoining the guest bedroom. It was altogether too much space for him, a luxurious little home-spa type setup, and just too elaborate for his simple needs. There was an enormous whirlpool tub with a full control panel to program his desired type of bath massage, should he be so inclined; even the shower was rather extravagant, large enough to comfortably fit three medium-sized people, with shower heads on three walls and at varying levels for maximum skin soakage, Squall supposed. He tried to ignore all the open space around him as he showered, then moved to shave in front of the mirror over the sink—the overlarge sink he thought was large enough to wash babies in.

_Behemoth_ babies.

His footsteps were muffled in the thick carpet of the hallway, and Squall paused only briefly before Rinoa's door before passing without knocking to see if she was up. If left to her own personal preferences, Squall wouldn't see her before noontime, though he was pretty sure he'd be waking her up sometime before them—if she was tired, he would have an easier time convincing her not to make him go shopping again that afternoon as was her original plan.

Rinoa had taken him on a quick tour of the house before they had left the house the day before, and Squall identified the various doorways as he passed down the upstairs hallway on his way to the staircase. The General had repeated before he crashed for the night that he shouldn't feel any inhibitions about making himself right at home.

And what was home, Squall thought as he made his way down the downstairs hall to the kitchen, without coffee?

He paused in the entryway to the kitchen, momentarily distracted by the scent of a newly brewed pot of coffee and the sight of the man sitting at the kitchen table, newspaper in hand. It took him a moment to realize that it was General Caraway, an oversized mug steaming at his elbow.

"Good morning, Commander." General Caraway set down the newspaper on the table in front of him as Squall took another few steps into the room.

"Good morning, General." Squall reached up to push his hand through his hair, feeling rather unkempt beside the General, impeccable as always despite the early hour. There was an awkward pause, and Squall tried desperately not to shift his weight from foot to foot like a new SeeD facing inspection.

Caraway lifted one eyebrow. "Polite conversation isn't your strong point, is it."

Squall shook his head, torn between relief that the general had understood his silence for what it was and embarrassment that his social skills were so lacking as to insult the former head of the Galbadian army. "No, sir."

A faint smile ghosted around Caraway's mouth, smoothing the stern lines of his face, as he leaned back in his chair in a posture of a man completely at ease. "You don't have to look so apologetic. I'm the same way. My wife…" Caraway trailed off, then shrugged a little as he finished his sentence. "My wife always said she was going to teach me the virtues of small talk. Well, that's no matter. Help yourself to some coffee. There are bagels and cereal, if you feel like eating, or eggs in the refrigerator if you like to cook."

"Cooking wouldn't be a strong point of mine, either," Squall said. "But I would like some coffee, thank you." He moved to the counter where the coffee pot sat on its base, warming, then hesitated before reaching for the handle. He turned back to where Caraway sat and, before he could convince himself to keep his mouth shut, blurted, "You don't know why we're here, do you." Squall voiced his comment with the same intonation the General had used in his earlier observation, ending it as a statement instead of a question.

A faint gleam of interest crossed through Caraway's eyes as he looked at Squall in assessment. "No, I don't. I do know that Rinoa just said she thought it would be nice if we spent some time together and asked if she could come by, which was surprising—to say the least—as our relationship isn't what one could consider 'close'. I'd assume that you're here to keep my daughter company on the trip and to act as moral support, as it were. As she said yesterday that she's technically on your payroll, I presume that you are no longer under her employ."

Squall had to smile at that as he shook his head. "Our contract formally expired with Timber's independence four years ago. I came because Rinoa can be rather…insistent." She'd threatened to keep him bedridden with Pain spells and other annoying ailments resembling the effects of a Marlboro's Bad Breath attack, which had been persuasive enough; it had been too much fun at Rinoa's expense to tell her that she hadn't needed to resort to such dire threats and that he would have willingly accompanied her, had she only given him the time to actually _answer_ her invitation.

He shrugged, focusing on the conversation at hand. "Rinoa should be the one to tell you why she wanted to come. I have some work to catch up on upstairs—" only partly the truth; he'd gotten a good part of it done already "—so maybe it would be a good time for Rinoa to talk with you."

Caraway smiled wryly, his voice dry as he said, "If Rinoa's sleeping habits haven't changed much since she was younger and still lived here, you'd be at your computer all day to give her time to wake up and for us to talk. But I thank you for your offer."

Squall tilted his head slightly to one side. "I'll have Rinoa up and out in twenty minutes, sir." Nonchalantly, lifted the pot and poured steaming, fragrant coffee into one of the thick white mugs on the counter beside the pot and lifted it to Caraway in a half-salute. "I'll just go tell her there's coffee brewing, then I'll get out of the way."

Caraway was laughing at the ingenuity of Squall's plan as the Commander left the kitchen and headed up the stairs.

* * *

Rinoa held out for five long, groaning minutes, cursing the fact that Squall had the ability to convert oxygen to carbon dioxide—and therefore the ability to torment her awake at ungodly hours of the morning. But she finally had to give in to temptation, throwing back the covers to shock herself awake as the relatively cooler temperatures of the room covered his skin with goosebumps. There was nothing she wanted more than to pull the blankets back over her, cocoon herself back in the warmth of her down comforter and bury her head beneath the pillow.

The man was a sadist. They'd traveled from Garden to Deling City, then spent the entire afternoon shopping. And he'd come in to her room to taunt her with coffee before the noon hour.

She was going to strangle him.

Strangling him, Rinoa decided as she grabbed for the thick robe tossed over the chair nearby, required that she be up. And if she was going to be up, anyway, she might as well have some coffee.

Good thinking, Rinoa, she congratulated herself as she stumbled sleepily to the bathroom to pull herself together. Caffeine would give her an edge, too, and give her a better chance of actually getting her hands around Squall's neck before he had the time to dodge or counterattack. The man didn't get to be Commander by letting his skills get rusty and allowing his girlfriend slip in under his guard. She definitely needed that caffeine if she was going to get her hands on Squall.

Rinoa brushed her hair and blinked blearily at her reflection in the mirror before wandering back to the closet to root up a truly ancient pair of sweatpants and a woolen turtleneck sweater in bright cranberry red. If she had to be up this early, she might as well try to _look_ cheery. She'd decided to forgo trying to put on makeup until she could see clearly enough to ensure she wasn't going to stab herself in the eye with the mascara brush or do something outrageous like apply lipstick to her cheeks. She hesitated a moment longer in front of the floor-length mirror hanging on the door of her closet, frowning at the sight of the raggedy gray sweatpants. Years of living under the constant shadow of her father's disapproval nearly had her changing into something less informal, but she curbed the instinct and moved boldly to the door.

She was here to make amends for the rift she'd—they'd—let grow between them with the passing years. She wasn't going to fall back into the pattern of subservience that had dominated her younger childhood days.

Still, it was almost frighteningly easy to remember how her life had been up until her rebellious teenage years. With the objectivity and the distance only time could afford, Rinoa found herself sometimes almost missing the safety, the security of those days when her every activity had been regulated, every minute of her life monitored, when her friends regularly underwent a rigorous screening process and freedom was…nonexistent.

She wouldn't give up the life she had now for anything, though. The occasional danger, the life at Garden, the loneliness that sometimes wormed its way between the long hours of work and the constant stress of worrying about Squall…As long as there was Squall, she'd gladly relive the misery of her childhood and her teenage years to be with him.

Rinoa yawned as she reached the foot of the stairs and turned for the kitchen. Those thoughts were too deep and too serious for the early hour. Close as she and Squall were, they were nowhere near what she truly longed for—permanence, stability. Security. Constance.

Marriage.

"Ooookay, definitely too early for _that_," Rinoa muttered, "in more ways than one." She rubbed her hands over her face as she stepped into the kitchen, expecting to see Squall at the kitchen table, indulging in a second mug of coffee and waiting for her to join him before they started their day. He would probably try to weasel his way out of going shopping with her again, and, actually, she didn't mind letting him think he won that argument. She was still pretty tired from yesterday, herself.

Instead she paused in the doorway and frowned at the vaguely familiar figure seated at the table, newspaper in front of him, mug of coffee by his left hand. He was sitting so she could see his profile, and in the strong light of day that shone through the window over the sink, the facial features themselves were cast, on the close side, in shadow. Rinoa didn't realize she was frowning at him, puzzled, her brain trying to slog its way into the process of recognition, until he spoke.

"You're the second person this morning to look at me as if I don't belong in my own kitchen," the general commented lightly, and lifted one eyebrow. "Good morning, daughter."

Rinoa blinked. _Was I really frowning?_ She must have been, and she tried to wipe that expression off her face to replace it with something…well, something less unfriendly. "Good morning…" There was an awkward stumble as she realized she'd left the phrase extended, her mouth moving in automatic response before her brain could catch up. There was another moment before she managed to finish the sentence. "…Dad."

He didn't comment on her faux pas, merely indicated the coffee pot warming on the counter with the slightest inclinations of his head. "There's enough for at least another two cups in there; help yourself."

Rinoa noticed that there was one mug, plain white ceramic, sitting on the counter. It matched the one Caraway now lifted to his lips, and probably was the same as the one Squall had been carrying when he—despicable sadist—had woken her up earlier. Caraway believed in order, and in unison. There would be no mismatched dishes in _his_ house.

That wasn't strictly a fair judgment, and rather than dwell on the thought, Rinoa moved to pour herself a cup of the coffee. She knew her father liked it strong; she could tell that from the scent alone as it curled through the air, warm and tantalizing. It was just as well; that's the way she liked it, too. The general, however, took his with no sugar and no cream—probably, Rinoa thought with what might have been a hint of amusement, because it would impinge his masculinity—and that she couldn't do.

"You wouldn't happen to have cream and sugar?" If things were the way they had been when she'd been growing up, the sugar would have been kept in an air-tight container in the cupboards above the counter beside the stove. The cook liked having it within easy reach when she was baking pies or cookies or other goodies for a particular little girl with a penchant for sweets. There had been cream for baking, as well, but Rinoa didn't feel quite comfortable enough to just help herself.

To her surprise, her father rose from the table and opened a cupboard, different than the one she'd have thought, and produced a small ceramic figurine, dwarfed in his wide palm, and pulled a spoon out of a drawer before setting both on the counter beside Rinoa. He moved around her to open the door of the refrigerator, ostensibly to pull out the cream.

Rinoa was glad that he had his back to her and couldn't see her expression. She was staring at the little sugar dish, probably open-mouthed, she knew, but she couldn't help it.

The thing was absolutely outright hideous, but that wasn't the point. It was supposed to be a cat, but the head, detachable to allow for entry into the empty middle cavity and the sugar there stored, was lopsided. One ear was drastically larger than the other, the smaller of the two resembling a pancake fallen across the forehead rather than the pointy ear generally associated with a cat's ear. Its face was painted on crookedly, and its expression was decidedly dim-witted.

Even the body wasn't immune from the work of the small, childish hands that had crafted it, and was misshapen and lumpy, the glaze unevenly applied over the small, squat base. Rinoa remembered clearly making the little cat sugar bowl, her mother by her side, her graceful, long-fingered hands guiding Rinoa's over the clay to mold and shape, giving the unrecognizable lump form and shape. Together they'd glazed it, painted on the face, signed the bottom with the date and their initials, along with the words—To Daddy.

It had been his Christmas gift, from her, so many years ago. It had been the last Christmas gift she'd given him.

That following May, her mother had died. After that, they stopped celebrating Christmas.

"…You kept this thing?" Her voice was strangled, strained, and Rinoa turned to face him. Even through the shock, layering shock over shock, she noticed that her father—her _father_—was blushing.

It was faint, so faint it was barely there, but there was a hint of color over his perfectly tanned cheeks.

But his voice was as emotionless and controlled as ever, his eyes cool and controlled as he set the container of half-and-half on the counter beside Rinoa's hand. "I did."

Shaken, Rinoa leaned one hip against the counter, cradling the cat in both hands. "Why?"

There was a pause, and Rinoa had the feeling her father was weighing his words. Finally he let out a sigh—a small sound, but a testament of human weakness she never thought she'd hear from him. "Contrary to what you might believe, Rinoa, I do have emotions. I do not allow myself to often be swayed by them. And this gift was all I had left to remind me of the family I lost." His steel gray lifted to Rinoa's, and there was as much confession in those depths as in his words.

"Reminding me of what I lost—my wife and my daughter both."

* * *

1.13.08 


	5. Chapter Four

This is dedicated to**Luissquall**, who is the sweetest and most dedicated FF8 fan and is, always, an award-winning reviewer. ) Thank you!

I apologize for the endless delays! I've finally gotten a better grasp of where I want to take this story -- where I want it to take us. Hopefully I'll be able to carve out the time to keep writing in the next few weeks. I'm graduating college and applying for jobs, so life's even more hectic than usual. Thank you for your patience!

**A Promise for Christmas  
Chapter Four**

* * *

Squall took his mug of coffee down the hall, secure in the knowledge that Rinoa would be up shortly. He shut the bedroom door behind him, settling down at his computer and logging in to the password-protected system. Headmaster Cid had reassured him that the deadlines could wait, but Squall understood better than the older man that deadlines were not things to be missed, and even though he might be on vacation, the rest of the world would continue to move ahead. There were several deadlines looming closer even now, before Garden would put all actions on hold—barring emergency—for Christmas Day. 

Quistis, thank Hyne for her, had come through just in the nick of time, Squall noted as he slogged through the numerous emails to be read. He copied Xu and Cid on his response, sending out a quick confirmation and approval of the plan. The new Garden in Centra would start construction the following spring, and the old orphanage grounds, with approval from Matron—Edea—would be incorporated as a fully-staffed day care and preschool for SeeD members and trainees with families and small children.

As he waited for the next requisitions request to download, Squall found himself thinking about the orphanage, something he did so rarely now. In the years since the defeat of Ultimecia, Squall had succumbed to the routine and ease of daily life as Commander of Balamb Garden. Rarely did thoughts of a former time, a former life, intrude. Maybe it was the sentimentality of the holiday season that was getting to him, or maybe he really was just getting old—Squall simply wasn't sure. Whatever it was, it had him thinking about a time, so many years ago, and a little boy in the rain writing wishful letters to a man who didn't exist.

"Santa Claus." Squall blew out a breath, part sigh, part disbelief. He'd really been naive enough, dumb enough, to think that a fat man dressed in furry red would ride up in a sleigh drawn by reindeer—whatever _those_ were—to drop off presents to all the children in the world in one night. He'd believed enough that he'd written weekly letters to the North Pole—wherever _that_ was—hoping his dreams would be fulfilled.

"Not a romantic dream, surely." Squall nearly smiled at that. It wasn't a particularly pleasant smile. He had occasion to think of his former rival, more former friend, than he did to reminisce about his childhood, but the memories still weren't pleasant. Seifer had severed all ties to Garden after the defeat of Ultimecia. For a while he'd lived in Balamb, trying to learn how to enjoy life. After that, he'd left. Quistis kept in contact with him; for all that had happened, she had been his instructor, and before that his friend. From Quistis, Squall knew that Seifer had bounced around, from Deling City to Trabia, even to Timber, for a while. Last Squall had heard, Seifer had been in Esthar, working as a security guard for the mall. Teen crime and gang-related activities were on the rise in the high-tech city, and they could use someone with Seifer's skills.

Esthar...For a moment Squall frowned, not seeing the numbers and figures on the screen in front of him. Esthar, led by president-for-life, Laguna Loire. Former inept soldier of the esteemed Galbadian Army, secret admirer of the singer Julia, one-time husband of Raine, small-town girl from the secluded village of Windhill.

Unwitting father of an orphaned boy whose heart had been shattered on cold Christmas morning so many years ago.

"Whatever." Squall hunched his shoulders, immediately regretting the movement as it pulled tense muscles. He was sore still from yesterday's shopping, hauling around the myriad bags of overweight Christmas decorations for Rinoa.

Rinoa. If he'd had his heart broken when he was a little boy, she'd been the one to piece it back together; if he'd lost his heart that Christmas Day when Ellone never came back, Rinoa had been the one who'd found it for him. She was his constant, his only, his best friend, his life's companion.

Squall wasn't big on fancy terminology; the word "girlfriend" did such injustice to everything she meant to him. Everything she was to him. And even though they had many more years to spend together—it didn't seem as if either of them would be walking away in the near or distant future—it seemed only natural to think of her as the only companion he'd want with him for the rest of his life.

But still…there were things about him Squall knew Rinoa didn't understand. His relationship, or the glaringly obvious lack thereof, with Laguna, for example, was one. Unlike Rinoa, Squall had no intentions or even the latent desire to mend ties with his father. He knew it constantly baffled her that, despite their infrequent communication—granted, they were requests for SeeD missions or the like—neither party ever advanced their cause in a more personal realm. Squall because he didn't care enough to try.

Laguna because…Squall didn't presume to know Laguna's motivations for anything. The man had gotten tied up with being president of Esthar and had forgotten about his own wife. Squall held no delusions that a man such as that would try to forge some sort of relationship with the product of that failed marriage.

Yes, failed marriage. Squall scowled, his attention once again focusing inward. He was no expert on interpersonal relationships, and the number of married couples he knew could probably comfortably fit on one finger—Cid and Edea came foremost to mind—but whatever Laguna and Raine had had, it certainly hadn't been a success.

He'd left, and she'd died, but not before giving him the son he'd never known about.

* * *

Rinoa couldn't hold her father's gaze, and, like she had so many times during her tumultuous teenage years, averted her eyes. She found herself looking down at the cat cradled in her palms, her thumb stroking absently over the glazed surface. Uneven features, lopsided head, slightly off-kilter body…it made her smile, because, there, beneath the unevenness, half-hidden by the atrocity—there was perfection. 

It was beautiful.

Not because of the way it looked. Rinoa had had enough experience by now to know that things weren't to be judged solely on how they looked, what they seemed. But the beauty was there, in the innocence of a child's hands as they sculpted a present for her daddy for the most magical day of the year. For Christmas.

"You didn't lose me." Her voice was soft, hoarse; she cleared the emotion from her throat as she managed to lift her gaze back to her father's, addressing the statement that hung between them like a wall of ice. "I ran away."

Caraway wasn't about to absolve himself of guilt by letting his daughter take the blame. "I didn't exactly go running after you." Though he had spent considerable time and money searching for her whereabouts after she had disappeared into the night with a duffel bag and a suitcase…and what had remained of his heart, and his family.

Rinoa's smile wasn't particularly humorous. "I ran pretty fast, Dad." Fast and furious, until she'd burned herself—and her funds—out in the small town of Timber. "But does that really matter now?" She took a deep breath. "I came back."

She didn't know she'd been holding it in until she saw the tentative smile flicker across the General's features. A little shy, a little hesitant. Nothing like the bold, take-charge military man she'd grown up so used to seeing—or had she merely always imagined him, and never even cared enough to look?

"You came back." The General reached for his mug of coffee to bring it to his lips, glanced inside to realize there was nothing but the dregs left. He replaced the mug, suddenly aware of just how rattled he was by this sudden confrontation with his daughter—and with his emotions, so long locked away. "Why?"

Rinoa wished she already had her coffee, so she'd have something to do with her hands, some pretense for the awkward pauses that preceded her words. Instead she turned the cat over and over in her hands, careful not to tip the head off and spill sugar onto the floor.

The words came out in a rush. "I…I wanted to spend some time with you, Dad."

There was a silence, during which Rinoa could feel the blood rise to her cheeks, her heart beating too fast. It was the first time she could remember baring her emotions to her father, and it was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling. She wasn't sure she could stand the pressure building up as her father slowly, deliberately, opened his mouth to respond.

"I thank you." She blinked. Those were the last words—well, perhaps not _the_ last words—she'd expected to hear from him. "For having the courage to take these first steps, where I myself couldn't bring myself to pick up the phone and call, or even to write to you."

Rinoa had never in her life imagined that her father would have wanted to reconcile their differences just as she had. Even in her most farfetched fantasies had the thought crossed her mind that he'd contemplated trying to make those first hesitant steps towards reunion. And it made her sad, just a little, to think of how much time they must have wasted, each too afraid to be the first to forge through the darkness.

Caraway cleared his throat, and moved, suddenly breaking the spell. "I think I'd like a second mug of coffee." He refilled his mug from the pot, then merely stood near Rinoa. "So…you brought the Commander with you."

It was an inane comment, but one Rinoa, at the moment, appreciated. Neither of them was ready, for all their preplanning and thinking, to deal directly with their emotions quite yet. It would take time, Rinoa realized, but at least they were making some progress.

She nodded, and finally stirred the sugar into her coffee. "He was able to take a few days off work to come with me." He'd only relented after she'd threatened to maim him to within inches of certain death, but Rinoa didn't think her father needed those details.

"Are you happy with him?"

Rinoa very nearly smiled as she moved to set her coffee mug down before poking in the refrigerator. She couldn't help it. It was such a stereotypical father thing to ask. Apparently, lack of practice didn't mean that some things didn't come naturally to fathers.

Her stomach rumbled, a reminder as to why she was looking in the fridge in the first place, as she pulled out the carton of eggs. "Want any?" The General shook his head—Rinoa assumed, from the empty plate at his place on the table, that he'd already eaten, but there was no harm in offering—and she addressed his question.

"I am." That made her smile, too—the mere fact that she was with Squall, happy with him. "I don't always understand it, but I am. He makes me happy, Dad." It was the little things, really, she thought as she picked a frying pan off the hanging rack and put it on the stove. His protectiveness of her; his dedication to his job, even if she didn't always understand or agree with that job; his silent devotion to his friends; even his overly-analytical mind and that impassive exterior.

She slanted a glance at Caraway. In fact…"He reminds me a little of you, Dad."

That startled him, visibly, and Caraway's eyebrows winged up. "Pardon me?"

Rinoa could barely stifle her giggles. He looked like she'd just slapped him full across the face. But she sobered quickly enough as she spoke. "I couldn't understand him at all, at first. I thought he was some sort of robot. You know, always doing the 'logical' thing, never thinking about his own feelings. Or, it seemed, the feelings of others." She realized that wasn't the most tactful of things to say, and hastened to add, "I mean, from my point of view. He was just doing what he thought was best for the rest of us."

Caraway still looked nonplussed, but when he spoke, there was a glimmer of humor in his voice. "I would suggest not voicing that thought to the Commander. I would imagine his response to your comparison of us would be…less than appreciated."

That was the diplomatic way of phrasing it. Rinoa couldn't imagine Squall's reaction to her erstwhile assessment, and could only imagine that it would be best to keep this conversation between her and her father.

A memory flashed through her mind, startling for its clarity.

_She was standing in the doorway to her daddy's office, where dark wood gleamed and the carpet was thick and dark. A man's room, a work room, with the latest technology of the day laid out on an antique desk. The curtains were half-drawn in the wide window overlooking the back lawn, rolling away to gently pruned hedges set away from the pool, reflecting the nighttime illumination from the light spilling out of the living room windows._

_He had just finished a telephone call; Rinoa had been waiting outside the half-closed door, tapping her toes against the carpet and staring at the indentations, as she waited for him to finish speaking so she could call him for dinner. Pot roast, green beans, mashed potatoes and gravy, with peach cobbler for dessert._

_She stepped into the room, her soft knock on the thick wooden door muffled by the sounds of him shuffling papers._

"_Fck you, Andrews!"_

_Rinoa came to a dead halt, eyes wide enough they felt about to pop out of her head. She'd_never_ heard her daddy use that word. In fact, he'd told her that it was the most no-no of all the no-no words. She'd asked him, once, when she'd heard it used on the streets. Some of the neighborhood kids had gotten in big trouble that night when her daddy got home from work and went over to have a talk with the parents._

_Caraway must have heard her enter, because he lifted his head to stare at her. His cheeks were pink—he was embarrassed, as he rarely was—as he stood to walk around the desk. Cautiously. "Rinoa, you were there?"_

_She nodded, on the verge of tears. She wasn't going to get in trouble, was she? She hadn't meant to walk in on him. She didn't _mean_ to overhear him use the no-no word._

_To her surprise, he crouched down beside her so they were on eye level. Caraway smoothed a hand over her hair. "Sweetie, what you just heard was…well, it was…"_

"_It's a no-no word." Rinoa couldn't help it. She didn't want to get in trouble, but the truth had to come out. "We aren't supposed to say no-no words."_

_A shadow of a smile touched the corner of his lips. "No, we're not," he said seriously. "And that was…well, Daddy was upset, and…sometimes, when adults are upset, they say things that they shouldn't." He was stumbling over the words, and even Rinoa, young as she was, realized that he was trying hard to explain something to her. Rules of the adult world, and the time and place to break those rules._

"_Mr. Andrews is the Vice President." Rinoa had heard the name at the dinner often enough. She'd even seen the man, when he'd come to the house once. She'd had to dress up and behave. For an entire afternoon and evening._

_Her mommy had taken her to the Timber Zoo as a special treat the next weekend._

_Caraway nodded, and tried to make her understand. "He said some very rude things to me just now. I didn't want to be rudeback to him, so I didn't say anything to him on the phone. Sometimes, when you're an adult, you get so angry, you have to let it out…" He trailed off, glancing at Rinoa seriously. He didn't think she'd understand._

_But her face was set in somber lines as she gazed up at him. "It's okay, Daddy. I won't tell Mommy you used a no-no word, and we can still eat dessert together. It's Daddy's favorite today." Bad girls in the Caraway household were sent to their room without dessert. Rinoa assumed bad boys—bad daddies—would suffer the same._

_Caraway's grin was warm and full of relief. "Thank you, sweetie. It'll be our little secret."_

_And they walked down the hall, towards the scents and the warmth of the kitchen, hand in hand, together._

Rinoa blinked herself back to the present. Such a small memory, such a small moment. But it had stayed with her, buried somewhere in her subconscious, to be revealed at just this moment.

Her smile was slow and shy at the General as she heated the pan, cracked eggs into a bowl and beat them with a fork. "Don't worry. It'll be our little secret, Dad."

And from the surprised answering smile on his face, Rinoa knew that he was remembering, too, a time when things were simpler and life was still sweet. When they'd been a family.

* * *

2.2.08 


	6. Chapter Five

Author's Notes: I apologize to the LONG delay in uploading this fic! Sincerely most apologies to **Luissquall**, the sweetest and most dedicated reviewer an aspiring author could ever hope for. I originally wrote this chapter back in March, but I never got around to uploading it. It's still pretty rough, and I'm not quite sure I like the direction it's going. I understand that the first section (Timber visit) doesn't really fit in, so if you have any suggestions as to what to do about it, I'd love to hear from you! This chapter, like this fic, is definitely slated for eventual editing and re-working.

**A Promise for Christmas  
Chapter Five**

* * *

I don't know what happened between Rinoa and her father this morning after I woke her up, but now we're headed to Timber, where everything, for the two of us, started. Timber, with only five years of independent rule by the local mayor, is prospering. Exports are up, tourism on the rise, as local craftsmen and artisans come to the forefront in the world market.

Timber, inexplicably, also has the known world's highest rate of marriage, and lowest rate of divorce. Something about the water, Rinoa told me with a laugh the last time she'd gotten an email from her old friends, Zone and Watts. Those two, I can honestly say, are probably two of the wackiest people I've ever met. Zone had me stand in as best man at his wedding, almost three years ago now. His reasoning was that he'd have asked Rinoa, but the whole 'man' part of 'best man' precluded her from the position.

It would have been nice of them to inform me _before_ the ceremony that the best man traditionally gave the bless-the-happy-couple speech during the reception. Thank Hyne Rinoa had had something prepared and was able, and willing, to perform that part of 'her' original duties.

But they're something of Rinoa's oldest friends, so we're going for a rambunctious and, no doubt, loud afternoon in their exuberant company. They took her in, took care of her, during those hard and tumultuous years at the end of her teenage life after she'd run away from home. They'd given her a home, a place in their hearts, and a puppy she'd named Angelo.

For taking care of her until I could meet her at that fateful dance the day I became a SeeD…for that alone, I'm in their debt eternally.

* * *

"Princess!"

The familiar voice had the smile lighting Rinoa's face even as she stepped off the train at Timber Station. Zone and Watts, as incorrigible as she remembered when she'd first met them, barreled down the crowded train platform, oblivious to the crowds around them. Their goal was plain: her. Rinoa had to laughingly lay a restraining hand on Squall's arm when she felt him tense beside her—he no doubt was ready to intercept them, all in the name of protecting her from a perceived harm.

"Zone! Watts!"

Rinoa threw her arms around whoever was closest, and found herself swept up in a group hug. To her amusement, when she opened her eyes, she saw that Squall had inadvertently been grabbed up, too. The expression on his face was distinctly less amused than her own. But when he saw the joy in her eyes, the irritation in his faded to a sort of strained tolerance.

He was getting better. Zone didn't get stomachaches around the stone-faced Commander quite as often anymore.

Squall managed to pry himself free of their grasp, leaving Rinoa to plant a big kiss on each man's cheek. "How have you two _been_? It's been forever since I last saw you!"

Watts' smile was shy and slow. He'd always been the quieter of the two. "Seven months, Princess, and you brought the pup with you, then." Angelo was in Zell and Jamie's care until they got back to Garden. Rinoa didn't think her father would appreciate her bringing her faithful companion to his house for the duration of their visit.

Zone nodded to Squall in greeting. "The Commander wasn't able to make it then. Five years of independence, what a party the city held!"

Rinoa's laughter was warm and full-throated as she half-turned to greet the woman approaching, bearing a dark-haired child on her hip. "You mean, what a party _you_ had! I can't believe Sarianna let you two get so wasted."

The woman in question smiled sedately as she extended both hands to Rinoa, kissing her cheek in greeting. She was a petite lady, almost delicate, with hair the color of mahogany and eyes a brilliant blue-gray. She made Squall feel like Gargantua, seven feet tall and just as ugly. He didn't understand it.

"They snuck out the back door," she teased, and had Zone flushing to the roots of his spiky black hair. She and Zone were happily married, he the editor of the weekly _Forest Owl Tales_, a child-friendly historical publication; she an accomplished sculptor who was often called to Shumi Village for consultation and design conferences.

The child in her arms bounced happily, gurgling for attention, and Rinoa accommodated him—her—it—Squall wasn't sure—immediately. "Who's such a big boy?" Apparently, it was male. Rinoa extended a finger, and the baby grabbed on, shaking her hand with enough force that Squall had the fleeting fear of it breaking. "He's certainly grown in the past few months."

Sarianna laughed, the sound warm and musical. "He eats like a hog." She stroked a hand over the boy's head, half-turning so Squall could get a better view of her son. "I was pregnant with him the last time you made it down to visit. This is Martin. He's thirteen months."

Squall had no idea what to say. Why were babies' ages counted in months, anyway? Like they were a different species or something, which, in his mind, they were.

"Ah." Squall could feel Rinoa's elbow digging into his ribs almost before there was any actual contact, and he tried not to shift his feet uncomfortably. Small talk made him feel inadequate. "He looks…healthy." He didn't understand, either, why people insisting on calling babies 'handsome' or 'adorable'. To his way of thinking, babies were neither. There had to be a better way of ensuring the future of the human race. A way that didn't involve alien species, female cooing, and gurgling. Out of both ends.

The baby reached out a hand for him, still making those strange noises. Squall felt the first slither of panic run along his spine, then squared his jaw to steel himself. For Hyne's _sake_, it was just a baby. It wasn't Ultimecia, trying to impale him on icicles that burned as they tore through flesh.

But he was just as terrifying.

"Yes?" Squall heard the tremor in his voice, tried hard to stamp it out. It crossed his mind that the child he was addressing probably had no idea what he was saying. "Hi."

The baby gurgled louder and waved his arms.

Sarianna lifted an eyebrow, joggling the baby in the way that mothers did when they were shifting and redistributing weight in their arms. "You want to go to Uncle Squall?" She spoke to the baby as if it _could_ understand her. Which would have been astonishing enough to Squall if his ears weren't currently ringing at the thought of being called "Uncle" anything.

Her smile was warm and directed at him. "Here. You can take him for a while." Sarianna didn't seem to care if Squall particularly wanted to or not, and she held out an armful of squirming, babbling baby.

Squall's heart leapt into his throat, lodged there, beating furiously, so that the breath backed up in his lungs. His head spun dizzily, and Squall realized he was staring helplessly at Rinoa.

He'd never held a baby before. He'd barely seen babies before. Babies weren't commonplace at Garden—true, more common now than before, as the average age of the experienced SeeDs increased with the years and settling down with a family was encouraged more and more—but he had very little reason to interact with any of those that did live within Garden walls.

There had to be a better way to design babies, he thought again, frantically, as Sarianna carefully slid the boy into his hands. Squall felt his fingers tighten instinctively under the soft armpits, then found himself standing, dumbfounded, with baby dangling from his hands.

"Rinoa." His voice was a croak. "Help me." He had no idea what to do.

Watts had turned away, doubled over—if he was trying to hide his amusement, he was doing a damn poor job of it. Zone was pounding him mercilessly on the back, as if to force the humor out of him. Or break his spine. His attempts would likely be more successful if he weren't choking on his own guffaws.

Rinoa didn't even try to disguise her giggles, but she helpfully moved in, supporting the baby briefly as she arranged Squall's arms more securely around the small child. Squall tried to pass him off, but Rinoa shook her head. Her eyes danced with wicked humor. "See? Martin likes it here. With Uncle Squall." The baby's gurgling did sound distinctly pleased.

Squall thought that the little demon was getting distorted pleasure out of seeing him suffer.

He was relieved of baby duty in the car ride—he sat in his own baby seat—but found Martin clamoring to be held again as soon as they pulled into the garage of Zone and Sarianna's modest single-story house in the quiet suburban neighborhood. So once again Rinoa helped him manage the armful of child as they took a tour of the newly remodeled house. Squall didn't particularly care about the appliances or the color of the walls, but Rinoa made the appropriate comments, so he, at least, was spared the need to try to think of something to say.

It was just as well. Concentrating on keeping his arms around the baby took more than enough concentration.

Rinoa slid Squall a sideways glance as they all settled in the living room. She had given Sarianna the bag of gifts, handing Watts the ones for him, and Zone was piling them under the medium-sized tree. Gaily wrapped boxes already sat beneath the fragrant boughs, and Rinoa smiled at the child-friendly ornaments hanging from the lower branches. Child-proofing.

Squall looked so uncomfortable with the baby in his lap. She'd settled Martin down, facing Squall, with instructions to hold onto Martin's hands so the boy wouldn't topple over backwards off his seat. There was something akin to panic lurking in the depths of Squall's eyes, but it was sort of sweet. And he was trying. Rinoa could see it in the stubborn set of his jaw. He really was.

It gave her a jolt to see him interacting in something as domestic as baby care. Rinoa didn't think he'd ever held a baby before. There was a daycare center at Garden, for SeeD with children, but Rinoa doubted Squall had ever been in there. He wasn't what she would call a natural with children, but there was something sweet about the awkwardness. Something indefinably _Squall_ about the entire situation.

The man had practically begged her for help, after all. He could face down threats to the entire known universe with nothing but a sword in hand, but he couldn't hold a baby. What kind of a man was that?

Rinoa found herself smiling at Squall as he lifted his eyes to meet her gaze across the living room, filled with the scents and warmth of friends at Christmastime. _My man,_ she thought, smugly. Still, there was an odd feeling, deep in her belly, at the sight of Squall cradling the infant in his arms. Something…odd. Like longing, only not quite so distinct.

She had to remind herself, firmly, that she didn't want babies yet. She and Squall weren't even married yet.

But still…she couldn't help but smile. He'd be a good daddy, someday, she decided, as Squall hesitantly lifted the baby as it squirmed uncomfortably. Maybe not with her—she couldn't see the future, but she couldn't imagine a future as such without Squall—but he'd be a good daddy one day.

He might not have had one growing up, and he might not even have one with her. But Rinoa could only hope that, someday, Squall would have a family of his own.

* * *

As a young child, Rinoa loved Christmas mornings. While her mother had still been around, it had been a morning of dreams-come-true, of joy and family, laughter and endless delight. And, of course, presents, enough presents to fill the living room with ribbon and tossed-aside paper, to litter the house with new toys for weeks to come. Looking back with the distance and the sentimental haze time afforded, Rinoa understood that what she enjoyed most about Christmas was that it was special, a day that stood out among all the days in the year as something different, a one-time only type of day. It was a day where everything was all right; despite all that was sad and wrong and bad in the world, for one mystical morning, the world was at peace.

Even now, Christmas mornings were special to her. Though the actual celebrations—with their friends, with all of Garden—didn't start until later in the day, there was magic still in waking up and knowing that it was _Christmas_. That was a sentiment Squall didn't share, one he didn't even particularly understand or agree with. He'd said, when pressed, that it made no sense to pin all your hopes on one day that was in no way different than any others, except for the outrageous expectations placed on it.

But despite his protests that Christmas was a useless tradition, he had, without comment on Rinoa's part, for the past five years taken off work early on Christmas Eve, shutting down his office to spend the evening—and night—with her. On Christmas day, he would go in to the office for a few hours in the middle of the day to take care of any emergencies that arose, and handle the last-minute details of the Garden-wide party for that afternoon, but after that, work was again put away until the following day.

He might not have cared about Christmas, but he had come to learn to care.

"Here's another one for you, Dad." Rinoa knelt beside the tree, handing out the presents piled there. Despite the fact that there were only three of them there to celebrate, there were a good number of packages—ironically, Rinoa thought, most were for her father, from friends and people he knew from the army. She and Squall would be exchanging gifts with their friends later that evening, but there were gifts from Zone and Watts to each of them.

Rinoa's real present to Squall wasn't something that could be wrapped in shiny paper and put in a box under the tree, but she had given him a small something for him to open, and she had opened a number of presents with her name on the package written in Squall's distinctive, no-nonsense handwriting. The ink looked suspiciously like Garden-sanctioned black ballpoint pen, but Rinoa was willing to make an exception. These past few years, he'd taken to wrapping and hiding her presents in his office, because Rinoa was as incorrigible as any child around the holidays.

Any present she found before Christmas was, in her opinion, fair game for early opening.

"I hope you like your gift," she murmured, tracing a finger over Squall's palm. She had gotten him a portable music player, which were just coming into fashion at Garden. It had taken her weeks of deliberation before she'd finally settled on one—about mid-range in price, nothing too fancy, about the size of a Triple Triad card, and black—of course. Squall wasn't one to follow current trends—in fact, he'd be the last one to admit doing so—but she'd thought he wouldn't mind having the music with him when he went on his long runs along the beach, or to plug into his computer while he was working long into the night.

She'd loaded it up with music, different genres, just to give him a hint about what all that memory space was for. There were pop songs, some classical and regional pieces, and even a recording of the very first annual Garden Festival band's performance, which would best be classified as something between a slow dance song and an Irish jig.

First on the playlist was entitled Dance with the Balamb Fish. She hoped he'd remember what was so special about it.

"I do." Squall's fingers twitched involuntarily as she tickled his skin. He glanced at the player, one of the newer models from Esthar, electronics capital of the world, in its box. He'd opened it, turned it on, inspected the various functions, flipped through the songs that Rinoa had put on there for him, knowing all too well that, left on his own, he was likely to draw a complete blank on what kinds of music he even liked, much less find out how to download the music onto the little contraption.

"I do," he repeated, knowing that if he didn't sound convincing enough, Rinoa was likely to doubt his sincerity. "I'll use it when I go running tomorrow." He tried to get out early a couple times a week and jog along the beach. Usually the sound of the waves was soothing, but lately his mind had been wandering, and he'd been cutting his morning exercise short. Maybe with some music playing, his attention span would last longer.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste. Her Squall was a man of habit, and tomorrow was Tuesday—one of his set jog-on-the-beach day. But at least he seemed genuinely pleased with the gift. Rinoa cast a glance towards the kitchen, where her father had disappeared momentarily, saying he was going to make some tea. His back was turned, the coast clear, so she rested her head on Squall's shoulder so he couldn't see the telltale flush of her cheeks as she murmured, "I have another present for you. Your real present. For later."

Squall shifted, moving so she had to lift her head and meet his gaze. There was humor in his eyes, and his eyebrow was lifted ever-so-slightly. "Oh?"

Rinoa gave him a shove, but her cheeks were still warm. "Not like _that_ kind of 'present' for 'later'," she admonished, casting another furtive glance towards the kitchen, where her father was still occupied. It looked like he was getting down a teapot. Just the thought of what Squall was insinuating had her tummy fluttering. They'd been very proper since setting foot in her father's mansion, and the perfunctory good-night kisses Squall gave her at the door to his room before he shut himself in for the night just weren't good enough. She missed him, in a way that was totally foreign to her.

She was used to him being gone, on missions and on training excursions. She could handle the loneliness when he was on an extended trip for business, the petulant envy that sometimes, still, blindsided her when he was too busy with work to spend time with her even when he was within Garden walls.

But she wasn't used to this strange longing, this wanting, when he was right there.

"It's special," she said, lifting her chin. "I'll give it to you later." She hadn't really been sure she could pull through with it at all, but now that she'd mentioned it, she had no choice but to see it through.

The corners of Squall's lips curved upwards in the shy, mischievous grin that always had Rinoa's toes curling—and her hand fisting in anticipation. She could never tell which was his sense of humor would take him. "Maybe I can tickle a bit more information out of you." He lifted his hands, and Rinoa giggled as she scooted away from him, batting at his hands. She was incredibly ticklish, and Squall, it turned out, was too skilled in the art of tickling.

A sudden vibrating buzz interrupted them, and for a moment Rinoa stared, confused, as she glanced around for the source of the noise. Squall made a face, shifting his weight on the couch cushion and reaching into his pocket. Rinoa realized what it was even as Squall pulled out his cell phone, frowning at the electronic display before standing and, walking away from the sofa, flipped it open to take the call. "Leonhart."

Rinoa frowned, looking at Squall's back as he stepped just into the foyer. She was half-surprised that they'd been able to enjoy so their vacation uninterrupted thus far, really. Garden usually went into absolute managerial meltdown the moment Squall stepped off the premises, so it was something of a miracle that they'd managed three full days without getting a call from Nida. But anything that had that quick, even more quickly masked frown shoot across Squall's face was far from good news.

"The Commander take a call?"

Rinoa turned from looking at Squall's back to see her father return, a tray balanced with teapot and cookies. It was such an incongruously homey scene she could only goggle for a moment. Caraway's inquisitive glance had her shaking her head to clear her mind of extraneous thoughts. "Yeah. I hope it's nothing serious."

She accepted the mug Caraway handed her, but her attention was focused on Squall, the snatches of conversation she could hardly make out. He didn't wander around while he was on the phone, as so many people tended to do; when he wasn't speaking, which seemed to be the majority of the time, he was absolutely motionless, standing at the foot of the stairs with one hand resting on the lintel post. Rinoa understood that the gestures common and necessary to face-to-face conversation were unnecessary in phone conversations, but it strange to see Squall so still as he listened to whatever information was being transferred.

"All right." Squall turned now, stepping back across the foyer to the living room. "I will be there as soon as I can." He hung up, his eyes locked with Rinoa's. "That was Kiros, from Esthar."

Rinoa's brows drew together. "Kiros?" There was confusion in her voice, even as the first edges of worry crept into her voice. "Is everything okay?"

Squall's gaze shifted to glance briefly at Caraway, sitting in the deep armchair on the other side of the small coffee table. "There have been recent threats on President Laguna's life, and the latest reports indicate that there will be an attempt made this evening. Laguna is due to appear in a Christmas parade commencing at oh-seventeen-hundred hours, and he refuses to cancel the event. Kiros is worried that these threats are more real than Laguna is willing to accept and called to request help."

"Why didn't he call Garden?" Rinoa rose to her feet, uncertain what to do, knowing only that something needed to be done. Years of working in a military organization had trained her to be ready for immediate action at the slightest hint of danger. "Nida would have put him through to Headmaster Cid right away, and they would have been able to get enough SeeDs out there in time."

There was something close to irritation in Squall's eyes, and he frowned even as he flipped his cell phone open to dial. "Laguna is blowing this entire thing off completely. Apparently he doesn't feel that terrorists hate him enough to desecrate Christmas by spilling his blood in front of the eyes of the innocent children of Esthar. There's no official funding, so Kiros thought he'd ask me directly." His fingers moved over the keypad of his phone, and he had the phone up to his ear and was speaking before Rinoa could ask who he was calling.

"Nida? Leonhart here." No wonder he hadn't needed to look to see who he was calling, Rinoa thought as she set her mug down on the tray. He had Garden's number programmed into his speed dial. "I need Ragnarok sent to Deling City, east perimeter, immediately. Change of plans—I'll be heading to Esthar immediately. I will keep you apprised of the situation." Irritation creased his brow, and Rinoa had to hide her amusement—Nida always had that effect on Squall. "No," he stressed, and she could all but hear the gritted teeth behind his words. "Personal business. Send me Ragnarok, Nida."

He clicked off before his garrulous one-time fellow graduate could respond, and glanced at Rinoa. "Ragnarok should arrive within thirty minutes, and I want to be there when it lands." To Caraway, he said, "I apologize for the untimely interruption, General, but I have to leave. Thank you for your generosity and hospitality."

Rinoa's eyes narrowed. "You're not planning on leaving on your own, are you, Squall? And leaving me to return to Balamb alone?" Of course that's exactly what he was thinking. He was either very sweet or very chauvinistic, and still very much the lone wolf he'd been when she'd first met him. Rinoa had thought she'd cured him of that mistaken idea.

Squall looked like he wanted to roll his eyes, but refrained at the last moment. "It's safer."

There were a million other things that Rinoa knew Squall wasn't saying, but before she could wade in right then and there, her father's voice stopped her. "Rinoa." She glanced over her shoulder at him, a scowl already half-formed on her face. She'd heard that particular tone of voice all too often as a child—that mix of caution and restraint. But Caraway's expression was mild, his eyes vaguely amused. "The Commander has to pack now if he wants to be on time for his flight." He lifted his eyes to Squall's, and, if anything, that faint smile broadened. "I will drive you to the landing point of your Ragnarok, and you two can continue your argument there."

Squall's expression went from one of gratitude to that of pain, and Rinoa had to snicker even as he inclined his head graciously. "I thank you for the offer of the ride, General. I will be ready as soon as possible." He slanted a darker glance at Rinoa, but there was something…something else in his gaze, something other than the usual frustration with her stubbornness.

Something almost like pleading.

"We'll finish this later," he promised, and hurried up the steps.

Rinoa turned a brilliant smile at her father. She'd never been happier with him than she was right now. It took a brave man, or a crazy one, to intervene in one of their fights. "Thank you, Daddy." It just slipped out, and Rinoa paused, embarrassed by her faux pas. Caraway's face registered no small measure of surprise, but she swallowed and plowed on, "I'm going to go up and get ready to go, too."

"Pack your essentials," Caraway said as Rinoa started up the stairs. She looked down at him, and he elaborated, "I think it would be a fair assessment to say that the Commander can have everything in order in ten minutes, but if you need to leave some of your belongings here, you can always come back to pick them up."

Gratitude warmed her voice, and Rinoa said for a second time in so many minutes, "Thank you, Dad. I just might have to do that."

Despite the situation facing them, Rinoa was smiling as she headed up the stairs.

Maybe her time with her father had been cut prematurely short, but they'd done pretty well together, she thought. She could see herself coming back to his house in the future, just to visit, or for other family events. Things might not be perfect between them yet, but there was time enough for that.

She had what she'd wanted since her mother had passed away so many years ago. Rinoa had a family again.

* * *

9.2.08


	7. Chapter Six

Author's Notes: Edited and changed the end to flow with my newly plotted Chapter 7, which, hopefully, is on its way in the next week or so. Thanks for hanging in there!

A Promise for Christmas  
Chapter Six

**

* * *

**

"_Leonhart."_

_He'd read the name on the readout on his phone, but had had to battle back disbelief and confusion as he answered the summons._

_The voice on the other end matched the name. "Commander? This is Kiros. From Esthar."_

_As if he could forget who he was. Squall had only met him a handful of times in real life, and only once, maybe twice, after the defeat of Ultimecia, but he would remember Kiros, if only because he was one of the characters in the "dream world"._

"_Yes." There wasn't anything else to be said._

_Kiros often reminded Squall of Nida—never fazed by social awkwardness, which could be considered both a blessing and a curse. But Kiros didn't waste any time with pleasantries, and went right to the heart of the matter. "I apologize for calling on your Christmas morning, and on your private line, but there have been serious threats made on President Laguna's life in the past weeks, and we are worried about security for tonight's Christmas Parade, in which the president is scheduled to appear as Santa Claus."_

_Squall knew Rinoa would be watching him from the living room, but had to block her out, focus on the task at hand. He frowned at the far wall, falling back on the standard line. "If this is an emergency, all calls should be forwarded to the closest Garden—in this case, to Balamb Garden—through the central office. A formal requisition will be placed and processed, and a team of experienced SeeD will—"_

_Kiros cut him off, impatience in his voice. "Commander…Squall." Squall blinked. It was weird, hearing someone who was basically a stranger use his first name. In his line of business, clients used either his official title or his last name, and it was only his friends, few as they were, who called him by his given name._

"_If I wanted Garden, I would have called them directly. The President…Laguna doesn't acknowledge the severity of the threats, but to the best of our abilities, Ward and I have determined that these people are serious, and they are very much intent on taking him out."_

_What they thought Squall could do, he wasn't sure, but he kept his voice emotionless. "I need you to tell me all the details available about these threats. Then we will decide what course of action is best to follow." He'd already made up his mind to forward Kiros to Garden. If it were a matter of security, such as they'd had contracts with Esthar before, to supplement the Esthar police force, Nida would handle the matter, and a team would be drawn up—in all likelihood, Squall would be commanding member of that team, as on-duty staff and volunteers were slim on Christmas day. But things would proceed by the book._

_Kiros' report was efficient and thorough. "The threats came in the form of a letter, addressed to President Loire directly, and in an all-city radio and television broadcast. The terrorists, who go by the name of The Disruptors, hacked into the systems from an untraceable location to send their message to the entire city—a second attempt on the president is to be made tonight, during the Christmas Light Parade. No details were given about the specific timing, but our biggest fear is a sniper attack. We have mustered the Esthar security force at what we feel are the weak points along the parade route, and we are on the lookout for bomb threats, full-frontal attacks, or mob rioting."_

_Squall didn't have to hesitate, his mind automatically processing the information Kiros provided with the precision and rapidity of Laguna's machine gun. "Second attempt?" It was mildly disturbing that there had been no news informing Garden of a first attempt. While it wasn't strictly protocol, it was common courtesy that all countries kept their local Garden informed of political uprisings, and the inter-Garden communication network was strengthening steadily. Something as important as the attempted assassination of the president of the world's most advanced nation surely would have put a blip on the information radars of Garden._

_Part of him, the part that remained aloof throughout all interactions, noted how there was nothing more than mild irritation at Esthar's lack of reaching out to the greater community; apparently, their earlier errors in isolation had not taught them anything after the Sorceress War._

_And that part of him had to wonder…the man they were discussing, whose life had been threatened before and was, even now, in danger was his father. Shouldn't he feel anything more than mild disgust that Laguna would pay so little attention to danger?_

_But then again…why _should_ he? Laguna meant nothing more to him than another head of another political body._

_Beyond that, he was nothing to Squall._

_Kiros was explaining the first attempt, and Squall focused his attention back on the matter at hand. "Three weeks ago, Laguna went to oversee the construction of the new development on the eastside of the city. We barely evacuated him out of the car in time; we caught a lucky break when the supervisor realized that there had been 'mechanical repairs' called on the presidential vehicle. The terrorists had gotten an inside man—he'd disappeared by the time we got police to the garage—to plant a car bomb on a timer."_

_Squall's first thought was that Esthar needed better security in the garage. You didn't let strangers wander in and out. Hadn't these people heard of such things as background checks?_

"_We had received forewarning of an attempt on that day," Kiros continued, "but nothing specific. We were lucky in that the supervisor noticed in time. Today, there has been much more publication, and they have narrowed the time frame to a ninety-minute window during the parade, though we're not discounting attempts made prior to or following the main event. We need your help, Commander. If it's a matter of money, we—Ellone, Ward, and I—are willing to pay the standard fee, with holiday bonus, out of pocket. The Esthar government, because Laguna is being stubborn, will not get involved in this matter."_

_There was very real pleading in Kiros' voice when he added, "Will you help us, Squall?"_

_He was silent a moment. A hundred thoughts were racing through his mind—he should say no, he should repeat that Kiros should contact Garden and set something up; what could one man do against an entire regiment of insurgents? He should return to Balamb and enjoy his Christmas with his friends, with Rinoa._

_But he couldn't turn Kiros down. He couldn't disappoint him like that. "I cannot guarantee the size of the team that will meet you; it is Christmas day. But I will be there as soon as possible. Be ready to review the route of the parade and current security detail when I arrive."_

_Kiros was audibly relieved and grateful. "Thank you, Commander. Will you need a ride from the train station? I will be there personally…"_

_Squall shook his head sharply, a small movement, and cut Kiros off. "No. I'm taking Ragnarok. I will meet you at the Presidential Palace."_

_He hung up, then took a deep breath and turned his mind to a more pressing matter._

_Rinoa wasn't going to let him off so easily.

* * *

_

It did no good to growl and seethe and clench his teeth, but Squall found himself doing all three as he engaged the pilot's console on Ragnarok, expertly flipping on manual controls and charting the most direct route to Esthar. Nida had sent the futuristic flying machine on autopilot to as close to Deling City proper as he could, but there were certain security precautions autopilot was set not to deviate from. Low-altitude flying was one of them, to avoid accidental crashes with mountains or tall trees.

Squall preferred to skim the surface wherever possible. Rinoa called it hot-dogging, but he liked to take advantage of the surface winds, and when speed was of essence, any helpful breeze would be welcome.

Besides. He wasn't fond of heights.

Squall engaged the engine, automatically checking the displays for green-for-go lights and glancing at the exterior visual screens to make sure Caraway's car was well on the road back to town before firing the propulsion systems that would shoot them upwards at a gut-wrenching velocity. Ragnarok roared as he worked the throttle, and they leapt into the sky.

He waited until he'd set the course before turning to the matter at hand.

"You shouldn't be here."

Rinoa, sitting in the co-pilot's seat in the cockpit, barely glanced over at him. "Well, I am."

Squall blew out a breath in frustration. He'd normally be touched, even if he weren't particularly grateful, for her insistence on coming with him, but couldn't she understand, just this once, why he wanted to be on his own for this? "Rinoa…"

She swiveled to face him, anger in her eyes. She'd held it in the entire car ride, had sat in stony silence beside him in the cockpit. Squall was only surprised she'd kept a lid on it until now. "Look, you're about to go charging into something dangerous here, Squall. I'm used to you locking me out when it's Garden business, and that's one thing. This _isn't_, this is personal, and it's dangerous. Too dangerous for you to handle on your own, so I'm here, whether you want me here or not. If I thought I could get away with it, I'd call up Zell and Selphie and have them out here as back up, too." Her face settled into a deeper scowl, but there was something very different in her eyes, her voice, when she added, "You're not alone, Squall. I'm not leaving you alone."

It was a sweet sentiment, but not one that Squall particularly appreciated at the moment. "It's not personal." He wouldn't let it be personal. He was a SeeD, responding to a call of distress. Due to the urgency of the matter, he hadn't called for back-up. It was a simple matter. SeeDs were trained to deal with various circumstances, and to improvise on missions with whatever materials—human or otherwise—available.

Rinoa scrunched up her face. She really looked adorable when she did that, and Squall immediately berated himself. When had he started thinking in terms like 'adorable'? She wasn't a damn puppy. He didn't think puppies were 'adorable'.

"Not personal, Behemoth butt," she retorted. Where she came up with some of her sayings, Squall would never know. "He's your _father_."

Squall hunched his shoulders at the sound of the word. He didn't know why, and he immediately forced his muscles to relax. He slanted her a quick, dark look before setting Ragnarok down on the special landing pad designed to accommodate it at the Presidential Palace. "We're here because I'm Commander of Balamb Garden. Nothing more." If he sounded like he had someone to convince, it was because Rinoa was watching him with that skeptical look in her eye, the one that preceded the rising intoned 'hmmmm?' that meant she was ready to dig in and fight.

He didn't bother to voice the groan, shutting off power to Ragnarok with a sharp command and dragging off his safety belt. "Come on," he ordered brusquely. He wasn't looking forward to the coming meetings—or the ensuing confrontations.

Rinoa rose gracefully from her seat. Angry as he was, she noted, Squall waited for her to pass him, one hand half-extended to her to usher her towards the exit hatch. He was so sweet. Rinoa waited until they were out of potential eyesight of anyone looking through the main windows before rising to her tiptoes and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

In typical Squall fashion, he waited until he'd started lowering the exit ramp before querying, "What was that for?"

"You're such a sweetheart, Leonhart," she grinned up at him. "We'll continue our argument later." She breezed past him down the ramp, shading her eyes against the glare of the neon lights and the natural sunlight that bathed the city, leaving Squall frustrated, annoyed, and baffled, to follow behind.

Kiros and Ward were nowhere to be seen as the disembarked. Ellone waited in solitary elegance, dressed in a simple red sweater and white jeans, as festive as a sprig of holly. Her entire face lit up as she came forward, arms open, to envelope Squall in a welcoming embrace.

"Squall. Rinoa. Merry Christmas." She stepped back, smiling, and kept her hand in Squall's. "It's so good to see you both again. I'm sorry for interrupting your holiday plans, but we're so worried, and Uncle Laguna is _so_ stubborn about admitting how serious the situation is." She tilted her head towards Rinoa, her eyes warm. "Has Squall been behaving himself this year, or is it a lump of coal for him, as usual?"

"Sis!"

Rinoa laughed, delighted, at Squall's outraged protest and stepped forward to hug Ellone in greeting. "We were at my father's house. Everyone survived."

Ellone lifted a single eyebrow at Squall, the motion conveying at once amusement and admiration. "I applaud your restraint, Squall—and the General's." Rinoa laughed again even as Squall scowled at the teasing.

"I trust Kiros and Ward are waiting to brief us on the security details for tonight's parade?"

Smiling easily at Rinoa, sharing a moment of purely female understanding, Ellone led them down the hallway. "All work and no play, Squall," she admonished lightly, but her amusement faded as they made their way through the intricate workings of the Presidential Palace. Aides bobbed their heads in polite deference to the trio—Ellone was a familiar sight in these halls, and everyone knew Balamb Garden's fearless Commander, and Esthar, at least, recognized the face of the young Sorceress.

"Uncle Laguna refuses to listen to reason." The reflection of her face as they passed through the gleaming curved glass of the outer hall, overlooking the city below, was set with worry. "He keeps talking about the size of his Santa suit belly instead. All the padding in the world won't stop a bullet, or a bomb strapped to the bottom of the sleigh, or a strike of Thundaga. He refuses to let us cast Reflect and Protect on him, or even Regen—he says Santa doesn't glow, so neither will he."

Squall toyed with the handle of his gunblade, the contours as familiar as breath beneath his gloved fingers. "Maybe I can get him to listen to reason." He inwardly wondered if reason would work on the man from the 'dream world'. Maybe if they unleashed a horde of mambo-dancing Moombas…

Rinoa touched his hand, bringing him back to the present. She was smiling faintly, and Squall got the feeling, as he often did, that she was 'reading' his thoughts. But her words were directed towards Ellone. "Let's hear what Kiros and Ward have to say first, then we'll worry about convincing Laguna." It was too weird to refer to him as 'President Loire'. Somehow, the man her mind conjured didn't fit such a distinguished title. "Once we know the full danger posed, we can assess the situation and make a determination." Rinoa didn't have a job as Headmaster Cid's receptionist for nothing.

The small detail didn't escape Ellone. "Practice makes perfect," she commented with a wry smile as she preceded them into a small conference room. "All here."

Ward was seated at a table, his large frame dwarfing the comfortable chair. His wide, homely face spread into a warm grin as he rose to his feet to greet them in silent enthusiasm. Kiros, standing with his back to the door, turned from his perusal of the projector screen, as dark and silent—mysterious, somehow, Squall thought—as ever.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said. His voice, quiet and deep, was like ripples on a pond after you threw a pebble into the water's depths. He gestured to seats around the table, the trays of pastries and prepared sandwiches and pitchers of juice. "Please, help yourselves. If you do not mind, we shall dive right in."

"That suits us." Squall sat, unthinkingly choosing the chair with the best angle to both view the screen and put him in the best position to face any attacks that might come through the room's single door. Rinoa sat next to him, Ellone across the table beside Ward. He ignored Rinoa, pouring him a glass of fruit juice, and loading a plate with food in front of him, focusing instead on the figures and displays Kiros called on-screen.

Much of the information was repetition, in more detail, of the facts Kiros had relayed over the phone, but Squall focused intently on each and every point. He rose to study the route the sleigh, with Laguna on it, would take. Departure was planned for sixteen-thirty hours—four-thirty, civilian time—and would last until eighteen hundred hours—six o'clock—at which time Laguna would arrive at the Presidential Palace, ascend to the open-air balcony, and wish everyone a merry Christmas as fabricated snow began to fall.

"I'd hit then," Squall mused, tapping a finger against the display at the balcony of the Palace. "Make the most impact, and have the largest crowd assembled to witness. Moreover, you're at the Palace itself—what better place to make a statement? And most of security will be following Laguna himself, not thinking about staying behind."

Rinoa didn't know what to think about how easily Squall thought like a terrorist. It was part and parcel of his job, though, she supposed. "But there are guards," she reminded him. "Regular patrols, aren't there?" She glanced at Ward, who nodded wordlessly in assent.

Squall hooked his hands idly in his belt and glanced at her. "True, but with all the 'Santa' preparations, there have to be workers coming through—setting up the snow machines, prepping the decorations. No way security can stop some guy coming through loaded down with lights and hauling scaffolding." Squall had no idea what one did with scaffolding, but if he didn't, neither would a guard on door duty.

"All hired set up crew members are supposed to be cleared by the company," Ellone reminded him. "They've been instructed to wear their identification badges clearly on the outside of their garments." She tried a small smile, which didn't fully erase the worry in her clear, level eyes. "We've tried our best, Squall."

He winced. "No criticism," he told her hastily. "I know you tried. With more forewarning SeeD could have come up with something more foolproof. But it's easy for someone to slip in as a laborer—say he pinned his badge to his jacket, but he got hot and took it off, forgot it. He'll grab it if they really need to see—but he's loaded down with all the stuff needed for preparations, right?" Squall shrugged, turned back to the board. "Guards aren't going to look that close."

"So what do we do?" Ellone's fingers played nervously with the corner of her napkin, belying the calm of her voice. "It's not like we can put a security guard right next to Uncle Laguna on the sleigh."

Ellone's words had an idea forming in Squall's mind, and the corner of his mouth curved in a rare, small smile. "You know, Sis," he murmured, "you just might have something there."

"What?"

Squall turned to inspect the displays on the wall. "Pull up the configurations of the sleigh, would you?" Ward pulled up the appropriate diagram on the first screen, and Squall studied the layout wordlessly. Behind him, Ellone and Rinoa exchanged glances.

Rinoa prompted, "Squall?"

He turned to the worried faces watching him for the guidance that had once so aggrieved him. There was real worry and pleading in Ellone's placid brown eyes. Squall did what felt right, and crossed to take her hand in his.

"We can put a security guard on that sleigh," he said.

"Laguna won't like that," Rinoa argued, frowning. Hadn't Squall been listening to the entire conversation? "Armed guards aren't in keeping with the Christmas spirit."

"Two can play the deception game," Squall replied equably. "If the Disruptors can gain access to the Palace dressed as laborers, then we can get an escort on that sleigh."

Kiros' dark eyes lit with appreciation of the scheme. "A disguised guard." He had no illusions—the Commander wouldn't accept any other on that sleigh other than himself. Kiros amused himself briefly by imagining Squall with a set of antlers on his head, bells jingling merrily from his shoulders.

Kiros had to hold his jaw muscles firm to prevent the smile from breaking his solemn mask. Rinoa met his eyes, her own twinkling with humor, and Kiros guessed she either understood his train of thought or was thinking along similar lines herself.

"Precisely," Squall replied, either ignoring or oblivious to the undercurrents in the room. He looked straight at Ellone, squeezed her fingers in silent reassurance, echoing his words. "I'll protect him, Ellone. I promise."

* * *

~12.13.09: Edited for content


	8. Chapter Seven

**A Promise for Christmas  
Chapter Seven

* * *

**Laguna was trying on his Santa suit for final adjustments, so Ellone showed Rinoa and Squall the room they would share in the guest quarters of the Palace before making herself scarce.

"I'll go meet Laguna at fourteen hundred," Squall began as he placed his small travel bag on the dresser. "I've got a costume fitting in an hour. Hopefully they'll have something suitable in their spares." Santa always had myriad elves running around, or reindeer, though Squall would prefer not donning those antlers. They would pose too big an inhibitive risk should the situation call for hand-to-hand combat.

Well, given his preferences, Squall wouldn't be dressing up at all, but that simply wasn't an option.

Rinoa slipped off her coat, which she'd worn through the briefing in the conference room, and tossed in negligently on the foot of the bed. She tilted her head prettily, teasing, "You'll be cute with sleigh bells and antlers."

Squall sent her a dark look. "I'm not going as a reindeer."

"Oh?" Rinoa was genuinely surprised. "You're too tall to be an elf," she pointed out.

Elves had height restrictions? Squall made a face. "I don't care."

Rinoa rolled her eyes. "I know you don't," she replied without rancor. "But I'll bet you Laguna does. Besides, if you're dressed as an elf, where are you going to put your gunblade? Elves don't have pockets."

"Neither do reindeer."

"But you could hide it better."

"What, you some sort of reindeer costume expert?"

Rinoa just laughed and shook her head. "I'm not going to fight with you about this," she said, refusing to let her irritation get a hold of her. "It's Christmas Day, Squall. I'm not going to ruin it with a fight."

Squall paced away to stand by the window, back to her, staring out at the manicured palace gardens. With the light washing over him, he was little more than a dark, shadowy presence by the shining glass. His mind turned to the imminent threat. "Christmas or no, there are things in this world that run on their own schedule. And sometimes a fight is unavoidable, no matter how hard you try."

"Are you worried?"

Squall twisted his head; in the backwash of light, his face was impossible to read. "There are too many unknown variables in play. If Laguna weren't an idiot with the approximate IQ of an Ochu, SeeD would have been better able to deal with any threats on his life."

"No," Rinoa shook her head. "I mean, are you _worried_? About Laguna?" It was so easy, listening to the way Squall spoke about the man, to forget he was his father. "This isn't just some political uprising we're talking about. These are attempts on your dad's life."

Again, there was that tensing in his shoulder muscles. "He's not my dad," he spat out. The words, and the bitterness behind them, startled him. Squall rubbed a hand through his hair on a sudden gust of breath. "What you wanted with your father…mending your relationship, remembering your childhood closeness…there's nothing like that I want from Laguna. There's nothing there to want."

The words were harsh, but the underlying sentiment intensely sorrowful. Squall turned back to look out the window, and Rinoa thought she saw a flash of regret cross his face. Regret, doubt, denial.

It was that regret, that sorrow, that faintest flicker of emotion Squall so rarely showed, that had Rinoa's angry retort dying unvoiced. Rinoa crossed to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his back. So troubled, her lion, she thought, and touched her lips to his shoulder. She felt his hands come to cover hers around his waist. "I know," she murmured, though there was an ache in her heart at the admission. "I understand."

Squall closed his eyes, his fingers tightening on hers. Rinoa would say she understood, he thought. Of course she'd tell him she understood.

And of course, she actually, truly did.

* * *

_Even if I don't understand it myself,_ Squall thought later as he knocked perfunctorily on the half-open door to the President's office. He didn't wait for Laguna's response before stepping inside. The interior was tastefully done, in soothing tones of greens and creams, a haven of peace in the tumultuous life of the leader of the most technologically advanced nation in the world. Polished wood—a dark desk, surprisingly free of clutter, a few old-fashioned and deeply cushioned chairs, an intimate seating cluster in one corner for more casual meetings around a low table—gleamed against the green-and-tan of the room. While the office wasn't exceedingly lavish, it was artfully, and expensively, appointed.

Squall thought Ellone had had a hand in that. He didn't know what Laguna, left to his own devices, would have done with the room. Probably nothing, which is exactly what Squall would have done—in fact, _had_ done with his own office in Balamb Garden, until Rinoa had come in, commented on the prison-like nature of his work space, and spruced things up the very next day after a hideous shopping trip to Balamb. Which, of course, he'd been forced to accompany her on.

Laguna himself was, oddly enough, seated…was he sitting on the floor? Squall nearly lifted a hand to his eyes, as if rubbing would clear his vision. Children swarmed over the man, and Squall had to fight the urge to run and hide. It wasn't like they were going to attack him, he reminded himself. Ellone had gotten married several years ago, and her children were well-mannered and polite. They were also old enough to be potty-trained. He wasn't going to get stuck with diaper duty like he had back in Timber.

"…and so there I was, trying to fend off an eight-foot-long monster with just my butter knife," Laguna was saying to the delighted children. It was such an obvious lie, Squall rolled his eyes. The other occupants in the room hadn't yet noticed his presence, so he was safe. For the moment.

"Uncle Laguna!" The oldest, a boy—Charlie or something; Squall couldn't remember—laughed and kicked his feet against the carpet. He had one shoe on, the other foot clad only in a bright blue sock. "Red Imps don't grow that big!"

Laguna merely widened his eyes outrageously. "Are you saying I'm _lying_?" He puffed out his cheeks comically, and Squall winced. Now he was going to have nightmares. He doubted General Caraway ever acted like an idiot, even when he wasn't in official capacity. "I saw it! It was at least eight feet long—no, maybe ten!" Laguna waved his arms in the air, depicting the purported size of the beast.

This had gone on long enough. Squall took another step into the room. "Actually, there are documented sightings of male Red Imps up to seven feet in length, including the two-foot tail. While they generally don't grow to such proportions, there are claims of unusually large tribes in the eastern foothills. Many such sightings of oversized Red Imps take place during autumn mating season. It is commonly known that male Imps 'puff up' to make themselves appear larger than actual size in order to impress the females and thus succeed in attracting a mate."

Four heads swiveled to stare at him. Surprise measured equally in eight eyes, but the children recovered from their shock first. "_Uncle Squall!_"

They launched themselves at Squall with such enthusiasm he didn't even have time to think of evasive maneuvers. Then he was enveloped in tiny hugging arms that clamped around his legs and waist, and he couldn't think at all for the fevered praying. He could feel himself breaking out into a cold sweat as each child clamored for attention.

Laguna rose, with more grace that Squall secretly attributed to him, and puzzled humor mixed with genuine pleasure in his eyes. "You came. I didn't think you were going to make it after all."

Squall was momentarily confused. Make what? Then he remembered, vaguely, an invitation from Ellone inviting him to Esthar for the holidays. He had been busy in the intervening weeks and hadn't given the invitation more than a passing thought as he sorted through his departmental mail. He supposed he should have responded, but that was a moot point now.

"I'm not here to party," Squall replied, his words disdainful. The children heard the reserve in his voice and pulled back to stare up at him.

Ellone's oldest, Sammy, lifted both eyebrows in mild hurt. "You're not going to stay for Christmas?"

Squall regarded the boy—he was anywhere from eight to eleven, at best guess—with a level gaze, but his words were directed to Laguna. "I'm here at Kiros' request in response to…certain worries about tonight's parade." At the last moment he altered his original statement. He didn't think Ellone would appreciate him speaking so freely of disturbing matters in front of her children. He was learning.

Laguna's look was one of such utter oblivion that Squall turned his attention to Sammy. "I have to talk to Laguna for a bit. Go find your mom or something."

"Okay." Unruffled by Squall's abrupt manner, Sammy tugged on his sisters' hands. He directed one last question at Squall. "Is Rinoa here, too?" At Squall's nod, the children let out an excited chorus of yells and raced out the office in search.

Alone with Laguna, Squall wasted no time getting right to the point. "Kiros called and informed me of the situation with the Disruptors." Censure colored his voice, his eyes hard as he stared down at Laguna. "Balamb Garden should have been contacted after the first attempt on your life. We _are_ the closest SeeD representatives, and with proactive force, we might have been able to forestall this second attempt."

Laguna waved a hand negligently. "Ellone is worried over nothing. Squall—" he sighed heavily, shaking his head. The motion sent loose strands of hair into his eyes. "When you're in a position of power—such as you or I are in—you have to get accustomed to threats and dangers. Some are more real than others; some threats are mostly hot air, and you just have to get used to them blowing at you."

The man made little sense at the best of times. Squall remembered distinctly the 'dream world', illusions and flashbacks sent to his unconscious mind by means of Ellone's special powers. Laguna had often made no sense back then, spending most of his time talking to himself about inconsequential matters.

Like Squall found himself doing now. He gave himself a mental shake to return to the present situation. "Laguna, you should know that when you're in a position of authority, you above all others need to take all threats seriously. As President of Esthar, once isolated from the rest of the world, you should understand the need for honesty with your neighbors and those sworn to protect your people." Squall's eyes darkened with annoyance at the man's irresponsible attitude. "Even if you aren't willing to protect them yourself."

Laguna shook his head. "I cannot accept that anyone would be so base as to defile Christmas with a senseless act of violence."

Squall had to pause a moment. Here was the president of the most advanced nation in the world, prattling about the holiness of _Christmas_? "It's just another day," he began, but Laguna interrupted.

"No." His voice was quiet, and his eyes, dark green and direct, were somehow sad. "No, Squall, you don't understand the meaning of Christmas."

Squall's brows knitted together. He ignored the stabbing in his gut at Laguna's very real sorrow. "The meaning of Christmas is for you to ride around the city in a fat suit?"

Laguna laughed, but it was a half-hearted laugh. "I'm just a prop tonight—a stand-in myself for the man himself." Squall realized Laguna was talking about Santa Claus—as if he existed. "The parade, the lights, the Santa suit—it's all part of the illusion of Christmas. It's for the children, you know," he added, as if it should be perfectly obvious.

Talking about Christmas—Christmas in general—made Squall uncomfortable. Feeling uncomfortable made him irritable, and Squall just frowned. He was_ not_ going to stand here and debate the 'meaning' of the most useless holiday of the year with this man. "Be that as it may," he stressed, "your life takes priority over this 'illusion'. That said, I have established with Kiros and Ellone that the most logical security measure is to station myself nearby, preferably on your sleigh, to protect you against any attacks during the parade."

Perhaps Laguna was not as thoroughly socially graceless as Squall had initially thought, as he said nothing in response to Squall's sidestepping of the Christmas discussion. Either that or he was denser than time compression and hadn't even noticed the sudden switch in topic.

"I won't have armed guards standing around," Laguna contradicted, just as Ellone had predicted he would. "Santa Claus doesn't ride in an armored car. Neither will I."

"I understand." _Think you're crazy as a Cockatrice, but I get that you're going to be stubborn about this._ "I am willing to disguise myself to fit in, as it were, with the theme."

Laguna eyed Squall in mild disbelief. "I can't see you as an elf," he said. "You're too tall."

Squall just kept himself from making a face, but the sarcasm in his voice was harder to disguise. "Then what do you suggest I dress up as?"

To Squall's surprise, Laguna thought his question over seriously. "A reindeer's antlers would be too bulky," he mused, startling Squall with the parallel observation of Squall's earlier thoughts. He eyed Squall, frowning. "I guess that leaves only one choice."

"What?"

"Who," Laguna corrected patiently. Humor danced in his eyes and face. "Who, Squall, not what. You'll have to go as Mrs. Claus."

* * *

"Hold still, Squall."

There was no disguising the mirth in Rinoa's voice, and Squall gritted his teeth as she moved around the stool she'd perched him on. She had a mouth full of pins, which didn't quite go with the wide grin and dancing eyes. "I'm glad one of us finds this amusing," he drawled, fighting to focus on irritation rather than embarrassment.

"Not just one," Ellone quipped from where she sat, reviewing the last-minute additions to the balcony below. She stood, framed by the wide glass windows overlooking the final stage for that evening's parade. Turning, she smiled at Squall. "You'll be adorable, Squall."

"Thanks." He tried not to glower. Mrs. Claus didn't glower, he reminded himself, but he felt ridiculous. More than ridiculous. It was a small consolation that the floor-length skirt in cherry red velvet was specially fashioned to allow him to hide his Lionheart in the folds of cloth. "It's my life's dream to be called 'adorable'."

Ellone let his comment pass, knowing the crankiness was a product of the situation. "It really does mean a lot to me that you came out here on Christmas to protect Uncle Laguna. I know you probably think it's silly, all this trouble for one parade, but the holiday, the tradition...it's important to Uncle."

Squall grunted when Rinoa poked him in the foot with a pin. "Watch it," he muttered. Rinoa winced in apology, kissing his ankle briefly before moving on. To Ellone, Squall said, "I guess your kids are all excited."

Her smile blossoming, Ellone said, "They are. This will be Sammy's last Christmas with the whole magic of Santa. He's old enough to know the truth, and I'm sorry for that, but there has to come a time when every child grows up. How old were you when you found out, Rinoa?"

Rinoa rocked back on her heels, thinking. "My mother passed away when I was little," she said. "After she died, my father and I...stopped celebrating. It just wasn't the same without her." She tried to shrug it off. "I was probably older when I found out for sure that Santa wasn't real, but I stopped believing in the magic when my mother died."

"Oh." Ellone incorporated a wealth of compassion in that one word. She turned to Squall. "Things must have been different for you, Squall. You were still so little, raised in the orphanage...How old were you, do you think, when you learned about Santa?"

The question, so innocent, stirred ugly memories in Squall's mind: a small boy, a rainy day, a secret letter addressed to the North Pole. And heartbreak, disappointment, and abandonment of hope.

"Santa's just a fairy story," he said harshly. Both Ellone and Rinoa looked startled at his tone. "A lie to tell children to make them be good throughout the year." He stared hard out the window, ignoring—trying to ignore—the choking feeling deep in his throat that threatened of tears unshed.

"I never 'learned' the truth about Santa. But I stopped believing in him the day he stopped listening to me."

* * *

~12.24.09


	9. Chapter Eight

**A Promise for Christmas**

**Chapter Eight

* * *

**

"_I never 'learned' the truth about Santa. But I stopped believing in him the day he stopped listening to me."_

Neither Rinoa nor Ellone commented. Rinoa bent her head to her task, her fingers steady as she sewed the furry white trim to the hem of the Mrs. Claus suit. Ellone turned to look out the window overlooking the main palatial gardens, decorated now with lights and gilded trimming. "There's magic on Christmas," she murmured, smiling at the gaggle of children playing by a tinkling fountain. Their laughter sparkled in the air. She turned back to Squall, her smile guileless. "Thank you for coming to protect that magic."

Ellone crossed to him, lifting onto her tiptoes. He bent automatically, and she kissed his cheek with maternal tenderness. "I'm going to check on Uncle Laguna and make sure he eats something before he gets on the sleigh. Knowing him, he'll forget and then have a dizzy spell in the middle of the parade. You make sure you eat something, too." Her eyes danced with humor as she stepped back, out of reach. "Mrs. Claus is fond of peppermint cookies, I hear."

She left, and in the ensuing silence, Squall gazed down at Rinoa's bent head. He frowned in mild irritation. "I know you want to talk about it."

She looked up, eyes wide in feigned innocence. "Talk about what?"

Squall nearly snorted but shook his head. If she wanted to pretend to avoid the matter at hand, he wouldn't argue with her. Like she'd said, it wasn't worth ruining the day with a fight. "Never mind."

Rinoa hummed as she put the finishing touches to his skirt. She stepped back and circled Squall appraisingly. She nodded in satisfaction. "I think you're ready."

Squall looked at the mirror apprehensively. He looked _stupid_. It was some small comfort that the dress provided full coverage, from the high neck down the long sleeves to the ankle-skimming skirt. It was also heavy, and Squall hesitantly stepped off the stool and practiced walking. The skirt dragged around his legs, giving the illusion of nudity with the cool air swirling around his bare legs. He checked the hidden slit that allowed him access to his gunblade, strapped to his leg.

"Mrs. Claus doesn't swagger," Rinoa commented helpfully. She sat on the abandoned stool, pushing pins into a pincushion. Her eyes were amused as Squall attempted to take her feedback into consideration. "Take smaller steps," she suggested. "That way you won't rip out the hem of your skirt."

Because they were alone, Squall made a face at her. "This is ridiculous," he muttered. His face was hot, and he scowled. The last thing he needed now was to find he was blushing like some stupid pre-adolescent kid at the first sight of the female body.

"It's part of the magic," Rinoa contradicted. She set the pincushion aside and rose, graceful, to come stand by Squall. They looked out the window much as Ellone had minutes before, watching the preparations in full swing below. "When the kids of the city look at you, they won't be seeing _you_. They'll see what they want to see. That's magic."

"That's delusional," Squall retorted. "Why'd they want to see some fat lady in a dumb dress, anyway?"

Rinoa shrugged. "It's make-believe, but to a child, there's nothing more real than Christmas." Impatient, she tugged on Squall's arm. "Think back, Squall. Try to remember a time before all this bad happened in your life. Can't you remember what it was like to hope? There was something about Christmas that made you giddy and excited. Nothing better than Christmas morning," she murmured, half to herself now as her thoughts turned to the Christmases before her mother had died. "Waking up and knowing there were presents under the tree, and hot chocolate with breakfast. Knowing Santa had been there, and the reindeer…" She trailed off and glanced at Squall. "Surely there was a time for you, even."

"Maybe." Squall knew better than to deny it. Something deep inside fluttered at Rinoa's words, a memory suppressed. Yearning, hope, expectation. Joy. He turned to face Rinoa. "I'm not a kid anymore, Rinoa."

She framed his face with her hands. His expression was so serious; on the surface, so stern. But she could see beyond that, see beneath the mask he wore so handily. "We're all just a kid on the inside."

_Running through the rain, letter in his hand, hope in his heart…The lone wolf, the outsider, the coward._

_Letter in the mail, and emptiness where his heart had once been._

Squall shook his head. He didn't need the reminder that that kid lived inside of him. He faced it, the horrors of it, every morning when he saw his reflection staring back at him in the mirror.

He didn't like the kid that lived inside.

"Whatever." Squall stepped back, trying to jam his hands into pockets that didn't exist. He checked his watch. "Where are you going to be during the parade?"

"Watching." When Squall sent a narrow-eyed stare in her direction, Rinoa rose onto tiptoes to kiss his chin. "_No_, Mommy, I'm not dressing up and participating. Though the thought did cross my mind. I figured you'd veto that right out of the water. Ellone and I will wait at the end." _Where the dangers are the highest,_ Rinoa thought. She _thought_ she had control of her sorceress magic by now. If anything happened that Squall couldn't handle, she hoped she'd be fast enough.

A rare grin touched the corners of Squall's grim mouth. "You'd make a sexy elf." He slid his hands over her hips, right where he imagined the hem of her skirt would be. "You wouldn't look ridiculous."

Rinoa twined her arms around his neck, bumping his body with hers. Her lips curved in a devilish smile. "Maybe I will. You can wear your skirt."

He winced, and Rinoa laughed, knowing she'd effectively killed the mood. "You hold that thought—about the elf bit, at least—and we'll see what happens after the parade." She tactfully avoided mention _if all goes well_. "It would ruin your image of Mrs. Claus if you had a certain bulge in your pants." She patted the bulge in question, smiling at Squall's wince.

"Thanks." Now he'd be stuck with imagining her in a sexy elf suit—and _out_ of that elf suit—all evening. Just the thought had him gritting his teeth to bear down on the sensations in his lower body. "Dammit."

She laughed again, knowing exactly what effect she'd had. Slipping a hand in his, she tugged him out of the room. "Let's go get you something to eat, then we'll get your wig."

"And a bag over my head," Squall muttered, but let Rinoa lead him down the corridor towards a large conference room. Trays of sandwiches and vegetable and fruit arrangements had already been picked over some by the various members in what Squall personally thought was a strange circus show. Along one wall was the ubiquitous array of insulated cups and coffee urns and drink condiments.

Kiros sat in a deep armchair at one side, scanning specs on a small handheld screen. He glanced up, the grimness on his lean, dark face fading into masked humor. "Commander. You look…festive." His dark eyes laughed out of an otherwise straight face.

Squall didn't even bother to scowl, but his fingers tightened on Rinoa's, his only outward sign of irritation. "Are all security measures up and running?"

Despite whatever he might have thought about Squall's manner of dress, Kiros responded competently as ever. "Perimeter scan complete at seventeen-fourteen. Guards posted at all city entrances. Plains clothes guards are already posted around the parade route. At thirty minutes to parade commencement, uniformed guards will make a final sweep along the route and be stationed at both ends. Disguised guards are in costume and waiting at the parade grounds. You will have one dozen guards dressed as elves, reindeer, and snowmen and an additional two dressed as toy soldiers on the balcony for the final scene."

It was all according to the initial plan. Squall nodded once. "Good. Highest probability of attack at the finale, when the impact would be biggest, but no one lets their guard down throughout the parade. That means even if the parade has already passed or hasn't yet arrived at each point along the path, guards must be alert for any suspicious peoples or actions. They will contact you with any concerns."

"We have another two dozen guards waiting here in case any such communication comes through," Kiros confirmed. "Although we agreed it is unlikely that the terrorists will attempt a second vehicular attack, the parade sleigh will be thoroughly scanned just prior to President Loire's arrival at the staging grounds." He paused, then added, "And again, I thank you personally for coming out here to protect Laguna. It means a lot."

Squall shrugged it off. Tried to. "You're welcome."

Rinoa came up with a plate of food and a cup of tea. "No coffee," she told him with a smile. "You don't need the jitters." He accepted both with a murmur, then sat at a small side table and ate mechanically, knowing his body needed the fuel even if the food stuck in his mouth and tasted like sand. He'd know. He'd eaten sand more than a handful of times as a child and on the losing end of a fight with Seifer at the orphanage.

The unexpected memory surprised him. Squall rarely thought of his childhood—or what could pass as his "childhood"—and even more rarely were those memories accompanied by nothing more than a fleeting regret of something long gone. The pain that he so closely associated with those long, horrible years before he joined SeeD seemed to have faded, or at least dulled, with time.

Some of the memories, at least. Others still hurt as fresh as if the wounds still bled.

Rinoa sat beside him. If he hadn't known her better, he would have thought she was unaffected by the upcoming events, but Squall was so attuned to her every nuance that he was suddenly aware of her own nerves. He sent a quick glance at Kiros to make sure the man wasn't looking in their direction, then slid a hand over Rinoa's. She looked up, startled, and for a moment her vulnerability shone in her eyes before she covered it with a small smile. "Something wrong?"

"No. Are you all right?" He pitched his voice low, for her ears only, as a pair of guards dressed as reindeer came in to munch on the offerings. He stilled her knee-jerk response, squeezing her fingers lightly. "I mean, are you all right?"

She looked down, eyes shadowed. "I'm scared." Her voice was barely a whisper, and beneath his hand, her fingers trembled once. "I don't want anything to happen."

"I don't, either," he admitted. She lifted her eyes to his, searching for any sign of insincerity. He returned her look levelly. "I don't," he repeated. "Because I don't want anything to happen to you." He lifted her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her palm, her wrist. "It's my job to make sure anything that does happen is contained and restricted, then halted, before anyone is injured or adversely inconvenienced." That was putting it mildly, but for once Squall didn't fumble over the words. She still looked unconvinced, so Squall swallowed down the doubts, the cynicism, and went with the gut.

"Something will happen out there tonight, Rinoa." She bit her lip, nervous, and he allowed a faint smile to touch his mouth, warm his voice. "It's called magic."

Whatever he believed or didn't believe; whatever had happened to him as a child; none of it mattered now. Rinoa's eyes cleared, and a smile trembled on her lips. "Oh, Squall," she murmured, leaning forward. Squall quelled the urge to scan the room to make sure they were unobserved—public displays of affection still made him uneasy—and kissed Rinoa lightly. She sighed against his lips, smile curving up the corners of her mouth, and sat back in her chair.

"Thank you."

He grinned faintly, fighting down the blush as he caught the reindeer guards trying not to stare. "You're welcome."

Rinoa shook her head, smiling. He was so sweet, her Squall, and so innocent. She ignored his blush, knowing the reason for it and knowing better than to tease him about it. "No, thank you for understanding." She tilted her head, watching him. "I know you'll keep us safe." _Us._ Not just her, not just Laguna—the former out of love, the latter out of duty.

Whether they knew it or not, everyone in the city tonight was relying on Squall for protection. Relying on him just the way he hated, looking up to him for the guidance he'd never wanted to have to provide. Whether he liked it or not, he was a leader, and in times of need, there were those who looked up to him.

There was more at stake tonight than just a Christmas parade. Rinoa understood it implicitly. Squall didn't, or thought he didn't, but somewhere deep inside he knew. It wasn't just a parade. It wasn't, as Squall had said, Laguna in a fat suit.

It was about Christmas. It was magic.

* * *

~3.14.10


	10. Chapter Nine

Author's Note: I see the light at the end of the tunnel! I can taste the fresh air! I can hear the birds singing! Thanks for hanging in there with me.

**A Promise for Christmas**  
**Chapter Nine**

**

* * *

**

I wish I had earplugs.

Never mind the fact that earplugs would interfere with my awareness of my surroundings. At a time when awareness is paramount to the success of this mission, I understand it is an outrageous request, even one unvoiced. Rinoa would have laughed if I'd mentioned it to her, even in jest. Then she would have patted my arm, the way she does when she's trying to convey without words that she understands, and that it's okay.

It's _not_ okay. I think my brain is turning to mush, deteriorating within the confines of my skull and sloshing around inside. The only word for it is 'insidious'.

I hate Christmas carols.

* * *

Squall gritted his teeth but did his best to keep his expression mildly pleasant as the 'sleigh', a float mounted behind a vehicle decorated as a polar bear, passed beneath an overpass illuminated by strands of green and red lights. Garlands draped the sleigh, and some savvy chemist had procured a long-lasting concoction that mimicked the natural dusting of snow on the sleigh itself.

The music came from a hidden speaker system at the head of the parade. Santa's sleigh, the focal point of the parade, came near the end of a twelve-minute-long array of elves, reindeer, snowmen, toy soldiers, and other holiday paraphernalia. Squall wondered if some children weren't secretly traumatized by the sight of larger-than-life gingerbread men prancing around with people dressed as various food items. There were candy canes and sugar cookies, and even, at the head, one towering female figure dressed in glittering white as the Spirit of Winter.

Unfortunately, the technical geniuses had managed to hook each float in the parade into the central sound system, and the repetitive, cavity-inducing sweetness of Christmas carols and ditties jarred Squall's brain as they inched along the path. The minutes ticked off in his mind, counting down to the finale at the Presidential Palace, but time dragged as he waved to endless cheering children and their bemused parents.

Beside him, Laguna eschewed the idea of remaining seated on the bench. He stood, waving both arms to alternate sides of the parade route, booming out a cheery "ho ho ho, Merry Christmas!" at intervals. Birdlike cries of "it's Santa! It's Santa!" filled the air every time, and Squall was almost grateful. At least the noise temporarily blocked the music.

There was a short lull in the parade when they went through the new high-speed tunnel. According to the specs, it would be a two-minute rest for the performers before they entered on the other side. Squall had originally vetoed the idea of the tunnel at all. The narrow confines and the lack of outside visibility made it a prime target for an attack, but Laguna had argued that a last-minute change in the parade route would lead to more confusion and, therefore, more vulnerability. It had made sense, as so little that came from Laguna ever made sense, and Squall had acquiesced with little complaint. It would give him a breather, at the very least.

"Would you sit down already?" The music, the bright lights, the constant flash of cameras, made Squall irritable. The nerves from the threat of attack did nothing for his mood, either.

Laguna glanced down, startled by Squall's tone of voice. His eyes, misty green, were surprised from behind the mustache-and-beard wig. "I'm pumped. The energy of the crowd, you know? It's infectious."

_Infectious_, Squall thought dourly, tugging at the choking collar of the dress. Why hadn't he thought of wearing something underneath? If it came to battle, he didn't really want to be caught fighting in a Mrs. Clause costume. It was as infectious as a fungal plague.

"No trouble yet," Laguna continued blithely.

Squall rubbed his temple but quickly snatched his hand away. He checked his fingers. No smudged make-up. Thank Hyne. The last thing he needed was to hear from Rinoa about ruined make-up afterwards. "That doesn't mean there won't be any trouble. We still have another thirty minutes."

"Lighten up," Laguna suggested. He draped an arm along the back of the sleigh, seemingly unconcerned by the world. "It's Christmas."

"You could die," Squall reminded him. "That is their goal."

The mention of death threats didn't disturb Laguna's mood. He grabbed a water bottle from a recessed compartment, drank deep. "You came. I assume you have a different 'goal', as it were, in mind?"

Squall didn't roll his eyes. It wasn't worth the energy. "Kiros never asks for anything. And even you should recognize that look in Ellone's eyes when she's worried. Above that, it was a breach in protocol, and it's my duty, as representative of Balamb Garden, to be here."

"You could have stopped the parade."

It was impossible to tell what the man was thinking. Squall had the fleeting desire to bare his teeth in pure, animalistic reaction. "I tried. You said no."

"According to Article 7, Subsection 12, Line 41, of the International Garden Association Regulations, any one country, when threatened by imminent danger from forces requiring the request and direct intervention of the nearest Garden representative, or a delegate of the Garden, must acquiesce to any and all stipulations of the leadership of that Garden when such stipulations are made in due course of time and with reasonable evidence to support such need."

For a moment, Squall could only stare. _Santa Clause_, was all he could think. _Santa Clause is spouting Garden code at me._

Moreover, Santa Clause was spouting _accurate_ and _relevant_ Garden code _verbatim_.

Squall shook his head. Not enough sleep, he concluded. It wasn't Santa Clause he was talking to, it was _Laguna_. Laguna in a fat suit. And air-headed as Squall thought Laguna was, there were reasons the man was president of Esthar. "This isn't an official Garden-sanctioned offer of assistance, or response to a request for assistance."

"There will be records of your presence here."

"There are records of my 'presence' wherever I go," Squall said impatiently. "What are you arguing about? Should I not have come, and let you get blown to smithereens on Christmas so that the children can cry that Santa's dead? Or should I have cited code and cancelled the parade so that the children could cry that Santa hates them?"

Laguna's voice, in contrast, was mild. "Which one of those bothers you more?"

Silence reigned between them. Squall struggled to put his thoughts into words and finally lowered his head to his hands. "I don't know. What is it with you? You and Rinoa ganging up on me or something? Trying to make me 'believe' in Christmas is a useless cause."

"I never knew you when you were young enough still to believe in Christmas." Laguna's voice was soft, a mixture of regret and nonchalance. "Maybe I just wish it was something we could have shared."

A guard trotted up beside the sleigh. "President Loire." He saluted. "Commander Leonhart. No trouble reported up ahead. You should have smooth sailing the rest of the route."

"Thank you." Laguna replaced the water bottle and stood, fixing a bright smile on his face as they neared the end of the tunnel. "Whatever your reasons, Squall, you did come."

Squall didn't need a reminder. He practiced his smile and lifted his hand to wave to the cheering children greeting them. He had to sniffle, though, and for once was grateful for the music that drowned out the sound of weakness.

Mrs. Clause didn't cry.

* * *

The parade was almost over.

The sleigh came to rest at the designated entrance to the Presidential Palace. They would ascend the flight of stairs, pass unseen by spectators through a short corridor, and emerge on the balcony above the masses for the final show. Laguna, as Santa, would make a short announcement to the boys and girls. There would be a small fireworks show, confetti and glitter, and then Santa and Mrs. Clause would bid all a good night filled with Christmas dreams come true.

Guards flanked the stairs up to the doorway. Squall waited for the sleigh to come to a stop, subtly testing the weight of his gunblade at his hip. Lionheart was a comforting presence at his side. A quick scan of the crowd revealed Rinoa, standing with Ellone, dressed warmly against the chill of the winter evening. Squall breathed slowly to calm the suddenly nervous patter of his heart. Rinoa was always telling him about the power of positive thinking. Everything would be all right…

They made it up the stairs and had another two-minute respite as they made their way to the balcony. Kiros materialized beside Squall as he suffered the indignity of walking around in a dress. "Final sweep shows clean, Commander."

Squall nodded stiffly, eyes never still as he scanned the surroundings. Even the building interior wasn't impervious to infiltration. "All exits covered?"

"Yes, sir. Double guards, IDs on display. Everything checks out properly."

It was a mild relief to know that Kiros was in charge. "Radios on." Through the hidden earpiece, Squall listened to the various checkpoints relay back. "Keep your eyes open. Here we go."

Laguna downed more water just before the wide double doors that would herald their entrance to the balcony. "Are the fireworks and confetti sprinklers ready?"

"Yes. Tech committee responds everything is set." Squall had to remind himself that Kiros handled not only the security, but also the details of the parade. It was almost too much for one man to bear.

A harried-looking parade organizer waved to Laguna and Squall, giving them the thirty-second countdown. Laguna looked to both Squall and Kiros, his face uncharacteristically stern. "This is it, gentlemen. Let's protect Christmas."

Squall saluted in SeeD military fashion before Laguna's words fully registered. He tugged once at the collar of his dress before following Laguna through the flung-open doors to the immense cheers from below.

Blinding lights, sparkling off garlands and tinsel and fake snow, made him squint as they approached the designated staging point at the front railing. Microphones, hidden in the decorated rail, would pick up their voices when activated by remote. Actors in reindeer, snowmen, toy soldier, and candy cane costumes flanked them at parade rest, and the music swelled with a cheery herald of the season.

Laguna raised both hands to the crowd gathered below. Squall tried to look for Rinoa, but he couldn't pick her out of the mass of upturned faces. Sweat dampened the palms of his hands, and he carefully wiped them on the back of his skirt. Something felt off, and he tried to look around for the source. His eyes tracked the movement of the crowd, searching for anyone approaching the balcony with purposeful movements, or any group of people converging below. He saw nothing to trigger his alarm, but something still wasn't right.

Voices quieted, and Laguna's words boomed out through hidden speakers over the gathered assembly. "Welcome, Esthar! What a wonderful day! What a wonderful night! What a magical time! It's Christmas!"

The screams and shrieks from below were deafening. Squall scanned the upturned faces but saw only the expectant, adoring expressions of small children, enthralled by the elaborate setup. Deep in his heart, Squall felt an answering twinge in the face of such pure and sweet rapture.

Laguna's arm wrapped around Squall's shoulder, jolting him aware of the situation. "Mrs. Clause and I are here to wish you all a very merry Christmas."

Laguna nudged Squall meaningfully, and Squall stared in horror at the other man. This wasn't part of the plan. Laguna's green eyes were friendly, but there was a hidden meaning in those emerald depths. Squall gulped and, pasting a smile on his face, waved to the excited children below. At the last minute, he remembered that Mrs. Clause didn't speak in a manly baritone, either.

"Hello, children! Merry Christmas! I hope you all cherish your time with each other and your families!"

Fireworks exploded suddenly, and Squall cursed that he'd lost his focus. No good, no good. But something inside him was twisting, turning. Something was scattering, something else coming together. It was like all the pieces inside of him, held so rigidly together, were flying apart with the glitter and the confetti that sparkled in the air. The boom of fireworks, the answering shrieks and gasps of the crowd, reverberated in his soul, and Squall tipped his head back to stare at the black expanse covered with manmade lights.

And saw them. Shadows against the reds and greens and golds, silhouettes hidden against the glare of fireworks. The hum of engines were an ugly, manmade drone almost entirely masked by the crowd and the music and the fireworks cannons.

"Get down!"

Squall reacted unthinkingly. He grabbed Laguna and shoved him to the ground, against the curve of the balcony railing for what meager protection it offered. Lionheart materialized in his hand, the hidden slit in the skirt working better than it ever had in practice. The wig went forgotten as Squall positioned himself to face the first motorized pod that crashed into the far end of the balcony.

Not unlike the one-man hovercraft machines used by Galbadia Garden when they attacked, these were small, highly maneuverable crafts that looked incapable of sustained distance flying. Unlike the ones in Galbadia Garden, these had the distinct look of Esthar products, and they looked less clunky than the other model. Two men leapt off each pod, dressed all in black with full face masks. Squall noted with some relief that the first wave, at least, were armed with primitive weapons.

Squall crossed the distance in a charge, determined to engage the battle first. Other pods were coming down rapidly, crashing into the balcony with less coordination that one would assume possessed by such machines. Squall barked into the radio as guards started to swarm the balcony. "Teams A, B, C, cover the president and get him to the secure location. Teams D and E, guard the balcony edge. Ground teams disperse the crowd, get them away from the palace. Follow the pre-arranged evacuation routes. Team F, find Rinoa and Ellone and get them inside. I've made first contact."

The first assailant went down before he could even untangle his weaponry from its sheath. Squall reversed the first brutal slash into a strong backslice that caught the second Disruptor in the side. The man dropped with a cry, and Squall leapt forward to yank the mask off the man's face.

There was nothing distinguishing about the man. Middle-aged, plain, nondescript. He could have come from anywhere from Trabia to Centra, his features unassuming in every way. Squall levered his bloody blade against the man's throat. "Who's in charge?"

The man snarled. "Death to the president and all who stand in our way!"

"Your way of what?"

"He will not be allowed to corrupt our city."

That made little sense to Squall. "Shut up." He dealt the man a vicious blow with the side of his blade, knocking him senseless. If the man hadn't bled to death by the time the battle was over, paramedics could see to him before the police rounded him up for questioning.

_Corrupt the city?_ It was an obvious reference to Laguna, a dissatisfaction with the powers that be taken to the extreme. Squall set the matter aside to engage a second wave of Disruptors coming from the sky. Esthar guards fought, some in uniform, some in street clothes, and a few in costume as gingerbread men and candy canes. Long-range weapons were rendered mostly useless on the balcony, as close quarters and the quickly shifting patterns of people made it just as likely to hit an ally as an enemy.

Radio feed came constantly into Squall's earpiece. Laguna was sequestered in a heavily-guarded room. The crowd was following direction well enough, although the sound of screaming children was loud through the radio. No breaches into the palace itself had been successful, though the main worry was that the Disruptors would infiltrate the palace and attempt to set bombs or destroy the symbol of the presidential power.

Most importantly, Ellone and Rinoa were safe.

"No sign of a leader yet." Squall barked into the communicator as he went to support a team of guards hard pressed by a small knot of well-trained attackers. "Hold off these low-levels until further notice. Keep the Palace secure."

Kiros' voice came through the radio, cool as always. "Commander. I've gotten a good look at the machines they used to fly in. They are modifications of a new line of quick transpo Esthar mechanics planned to release early next year. The main plant is just east of the Palace. They can't go far through the air, so best guess says they're coming directly from the manufacturing center."

"Understood. I'm en route now."

Squall grabbed the nearest abandoned hovercraft, scooped up an abandoned gun. _Thank Hyne for Esthar mechanics,_ he thought as he engaged the simple controls. There was a moment of gut-lurching panic when the craft shot upwards and he thought he was going to topple off backwards, but he shifted his weight and balance and shot off around the perimeter of the building to the east.

At least the flow of incoming hovercraft seemed to have halted. Squall radioed in the news to the beleaguered ground troops protecting the palace and zeroed in on the plant. Part of his mind understood the folly of haring off alone. Part of him considered that it might even be a trap, but Squall decided he could handle the consequences.

These people had ruined Christmas, and now they had to pay.

* * *

~5.23.10


	11. Chapter Ten

Author's Note: So I'm really bad at fight scenes. Any suggestions for improvement would be much appreciated!

**A Promise for Christmas**

**Chapter Ten

* * *

**

Rinoa saw Squall take off alone, and her heart leapt into her throat. She'd heard the reports over the radio and knew immediately what Squall was planning. Even as she followed the guards escorting them inside, her eyes tracked Squall's progress on the two-man machine until he disappeared from view.

Ellone's hand touched Rinoa's elbow, and she jumped. The older woman met her eyes, sympathy but firm command in her gaze. "You won't go after him."

"It could be a trap."

Ellone hadn't thought of that, but she shook her head. "Rinoa, you _can't_. You're the Sorceress. We can't risk you."

Her responsibilities as Sorceress had never meant less to Rinoa, and she fought a bitter war between duty and love. "I can't leave him on his own."

"He won't be alone."

Kiros stood in front of them, armed and armored, with a force of guards behind him. Ward, silent and huge, stood at his side, toting a ferocious-looking harpoon in one hand like it was a toy. Kiros saluted both Rinoa and Ellone, his dark eyes serious. "We're going in after him. Your Commander will be safe, Rinoa." He met Ellone's worried gaze evenly. "We'll protect him."

Ellone's smile trembled, but she laid a hand on Kiros' forearm in gratitude and trust. "I know," she said simply, and stepped out of their way. As they trotted down the hall towards the main exit, Kiros snapped out orders. The group split into two, with Kiros leading half towards the balcony, Ward in lead of the second half.

"The garage," Ellone surmised. Their guards urged them deeper into the Palace, where a secured room had been prepared for just this eventuality. "Ward would never make it into the air on one of those little flying machines."

"I could help them," Rinoa suggested belatedly as she matched steps with Ellone. "Spells and the like."

Ellone shook her head. "Our responsibility now is not to fight."

"Because we're women?" Rinoa scrunched up her nose in distaste even as her blood fired. Let anyone tell _her_ she wasn't combat-ready!

Laughing, the sound feminine and resigned, Ellone let Rinoa precede her into the prepared lounge. "Because this is for Squall to see to. This time," she stressed quietly, "let Squall handle this. It's not Garden business, Rinoa. You understand that. It's Christmas."

_It's personal,_ Rinoa thought, looking at where Laguna stood already, his back to them, staring hard at the bank of monitors along the far wall. The security cameras captured various angles, and from every view fighting was fully engaged. A radio was set up on the table, spewing terse communications between various factions.

Rinoa hung back, awkward, as Ellone moved gracefully across the room to embrace her 'uncle'. "Everything will be all right," she promised, resting her head on his shoulder in a wordless gesture of camaraderie and support. "Squall will be back."

Laguna's voice was uncharacteristically hoarse. "I hope so."

"Believe in him." Ellone leaned back, voice serene and firm. "It's Christmas, Uncle Laguna. What else can we do but believe?"

Rinoa's heart strangled in her throat._ What else, indeed?

* * *

_

Squall disconnected the radio but left the ear piece in as he neared the factory. He wanted his full attention on the situation at hand and didn't need the distraction of hearing updates on the struggle at the Palace. He could do nothing about that now, and trusted that Kiros could handle things in his absence.

The factory was lit up like – ha, ha – Christmas, bright industrial lights beaming out from windows opening into the workspaces below. Squall maneuvered the hoverpod around the building, scoping out the layout. Typical industrial building, with very few of the aesthetic touches that enhanced every other space in Esthar. One main entrance in front, docking and loading bays in the back for land and air cargo transport. Several of those were open, presumably departure points for the Disruptors that had converged on the Palace.

Squall aimed towards those. He was glad for the Esthar-made craft, its engine a quiet hum that nonetheless shattered the relative silence. Sounds of war were distant, and even the relentless cheer of holiday carols that someone had left on from the parade was muffled. Squall shut off the engine and hopped off, Lionheart in hand as he made his way deeper into the factory building.

It was eerily empty inside. Squall could see the halls where hovercraft had lined up, awaiting their turn to take to the skies. Other models, either prototypes or otherwise unusable, sat in recessed corners under protective clear plastic. Several other types of hovercraft sat in display-like rooms with glass fronts – a four-seater, an all-terrain vehicle, an airboard with fancy touches.

Squall's footsteps made slight echoes as he crossed to the central work area. Huge machines, shut down for the holiday break, loomed ominously overhead. All lights were on, throwing the swept concrete floor into sharp relief and casting an otherworldly feel to the silent machinery. Squall made his way slowly through them, wondering where an evil mastermind would hide amid all this.

The sudden groaning rumble of engines firing up had him jolting, bringing Lionheart up to guard position against an enemy he couldn't see. Squall leapt back, spinning to pinpoint the location of the enemy. Instead he saw the last thing he wanted to see: machines moving to some remote control, extending drills and saws, conveyor belts starting, chutes opening, as if stretching muscles that didn't exist.

A voice boomed out everywhere. "Greetings, Commander Leonhart, and welcome."

Squall knew better than to disorient himself looking for the source of the voice. Speakers were embedded in the vaulted ceilings, the PA system established for employee safety. There would be a control room, no doubt overlooking the floor. Squall scanned the walls for such a room even as he tried to maneuver himself out of the tangle of machinery.

The voice continued cheerfully, "I never truly expected you to make it this far. You are more tenacious than expected. I'd normally commend you on your tenacity, but I'm afraid it's rather interfering at the moment. I do have a goal, after all."

He saw it. Set in a wall of monitors and screens now dark with disuse, the control room sat high on the east wall. Squall could see in the dimly lit room a single form seated at the control board. The Disruptors' leader must have hacked into the system, he thought, overridden normal controls to activate the machines. No doubt the man had a gruesome end in mind.

Squall didn't plan on dying. He kept an eye on the machines, gauging reach and distance of the nearest crane-like apparatus.

"You see," the voice continued conversationally, "we weren't actually prepared for your arrival. I would have liked to welcome you with a little more pomp and circumstance, but we didn't know you'd even be here this Christmas until it was almost too late." Here a pout moved into the voice, and Squall cocked his head in interest. The voice sounded male, spoiled, and _young_. "If you'd stayed out of it, Laguna would already be ours."

The nearest set of stairs was across a broad expanse of open linoleum. Squall would never make the dash without being spotted, and even if the machines couldn't reach to stop him, the man in the control room would have too much time to rabbit. Squall weighed his other options. The bank of elevators was similarly too conspicuous, and possibly even disabled.

The only other option, then, was to scale the machines, somehow. If he could get the right height and the right angle on those windows, Squall could break through the glass and have a straight shot at the head of the entire operation.

The man wasn't finished his monologue yet. "And as much as I admire you, Commander, on a personal and professional level, I'm afraid you'll have to go. I do have an agenda here." He laughed, the sound merry over the speakers. "I'd apologize, but happily I'm not overburdened by any sense of guilt at your loss. Good-bye, Commander."

Squall dodged as a goose-neck claw lift smashed into the ground beside him from above. He rolled, cursing as his feet tangled in the faux fur hem on the skirt. "Hyne damn it!" He'd forgotten about the getup, and clumsily regained his feet. He eyed the machinery with misgivings. He'd Junctioned Quetzacotl beforehand, just out of habit, but hesitated to use her. He didn't want to disable the machines entirely with a sweeping lighting attack; he need them operational if his plan were to succeed.

He didn't have much time to think. A second machine swung its massive head around, saws whirring. Squall ducked, came up hard against a moving conveyor belt. He leapt up, nearly lost his balance as it whisked him towards a huge hammer that promised to smash him into oblivion.

Sheathing Lionheart somewhat awkwardly back in the skirt, Squall gritted his teeth and gathered handfuls of material in both hands so he wouldn't trip. _I look like an idiot_ was his only thought as he leapt on top of the uplifting hammer block, teetering and making the second leap to an adjoining crane arm.

He had to release his skirts to grab onto the loose wires. The crane shook madly, attempting to throw him off, and Squall's stomach heaved at the wild movements. He'd have given anything for a Float right then, but he didn't have time to find the spell and cast it. He had to keep moving, keep his enemy guessing.

He scrambled along the length as carefully as he could, and when he saw, in his whirling vision, a second crane loom in his path, he made the wild leap. For one second he was flailing midair, then he crashed stomach-first into the next machine.

Squall retched, clinging to the new metal frame. He hauled himself up, slid down until he found a foothold in the smooth exterior of the enormous drill-tipped crane. There were shouts and curses now, screaming through the intercom. Squall cocked an ear even as he fought his way up the slick, painted metal surface of the crane. The voice sounded outraged, borderline desperate. Something about the tone and cadence of unintelligible ranting again made Squall think young and spoiled, like a child denied a treat.

The crane swung around, as if trying to shed him like a dog sheds water after a bath. Squall gripped tight, focused on the window spinning past. He had time for one quick prayer—_please Hyne_—as he gauged distance and trajectory, then loosed himself off the arm of the crane.

He tucked into a protective ball, crashing through the window with a crystal waterfall of broken shards and cacophonous music. Small cuts from flying glass stung along his arms and neck, and Squall rolled through more glass, feeling as much as hearing the crunch beneath his body. He had Lionheart out and in his hand, combat ready, when he sprang to his feet, facing the Disruptor manning the controls.

He was young, young enough to give Squall a jolt. The man stared at him with crazy eyes, dark brown hair spiky around a lean, sulky face. Blood trickled from a minute cut in his left cheek. He abandoned the controls, putting the single rolling chair, the only available cover, between himself and Squall.

Curiosity overtook even Squall's dedication to duty. He kept Lionheart in defense, but the man appeared unarmed. "What's your problem with Laguna?" It never crossed his mind to use Laguna's full title. "You've gone through a lot of trouble on his behalf."

"He's corrupting our city."

Again with that phrasing. Squall very nearly sneered, but such an action was too blatant an expression for him. Instead he lifted an eyebrow. "You've been reading too much Propagandist fiction. Your wording is both patently unoriginal and insidiously vague. It lacks substance and focus." He scraped a look up and down, deliberately insulting. "Though I suppose I'm not surprised."

"Shut up!" The Disruptor—Squall blinked—he actually _stomped_ his foot. "You won't talk to me like that! I'm not a baby, I'm not a child. You will respect me and my cause."

Perhaps the sneer wasn't too much for Squall. He felt his mouth twist in derision. The boy couldn't have yet hit twenty. He felt conflicting impulses inside of him. Pity that someone so young should have talents so wasted, and mild discomfort that he was, essentially, taking down a child.

He worked the sneer into his voice, a verbal slap at the ego. "I don't think you're in any place to dictate how I will or will not regard you. Though you did do a fairly good job of screwing up the parade. Which, by the way, was a bad idea. Screwing up the parade, that is. The parade itself is lamebrained enough without your help. It were me, I'd have gone after Laguna during the prep. Less chance of screw-ups." He smiled then, big and toothy. "Major screw-ups."

He fully expected the Disruptor to stomp his foot again. Instead he fisted his hands in his hair and yanked. "You weren't supposed to track me here! Nobody outthinks Chester Stormbanks, _nobody_!" Squall was momentarily distracted by the fact that he'd referred to himself in third person. "I'll annihilate you!"

"Definitely too much Propagandist fiction," he decided, goading Chester on. "Or perhaps it's those new Blood Run games. Too much virtual, Chester, not enough reality."

He shifted his feet, subtly easing closer as Chester smashed a fist into the controls. On the other side of the busted windows, machines spun and clacked and crashed. Squall calculated the risks and benefits and, though it stretched little-used muscles, grinned hugely. "Though once I get you to prison, you'll get plenty of reality."

"I'm not going to prison!" Chester rushed at Squall, screaming wild curses.

Squall had expected him to run away, not towards him. For one split second he was afraid Chester would impale himself on the end of Lionheart. Squall threw his gunblade aside and tackled the Disruptor.

They crashed to the floor, Chester flailing and screaming. Glass crunched beneath them, and Squall squinted as crystal showered into his face. He grunted as a fist plowed into his gut, narrowly dodged the elbow thrown towards his chin. Blood dripped into his eyes from somewhere on his forehead. The scent of it was hot and ripe, and blood slicked his hands, making it hard to get purchase anywhere.

More annoyed by the pain than impaired by it, Squall reared up and plowed a short-armed fist into Chester's face.

Chester's eyes rolled back, and he dropped with a thud and a tinkle of broken glass. Squall groaned and sat up on his haunches, checking himself over for major injuries. He shook his head making glass fly from his hair in a deadly shower. It seemed like mostly small cuts, but his ribs ached from contact with Chester's fist, and his forehead throbbed. He probed gently with a finger, wincing as he felt the long gash there.

On the ground, Chester moaned. Squall crouched, patting the boy down for weapons and checking for hidden weapons. He found a loose-leaf booklet and flipped through it. Inside was a sort of diary, written by a half-mad author, detailing the attack on Laguna and the particulars of procuring the necessary funds and equipment and manpower.

On the last page, dated that morning, was written a single page. Squall rose from his crouch, idly set one boot on the man's back to keep his immobile as he read.

_December 25_

_The time has finally come. All details are ready, everything's in place. The Commander from Balamb Garden is here. No doubt summoned by someone with real brains in the Presidential Palace. Left to his own, Laguna Loire wouldn't know how to tie his own shoelaces, much less run a country._

_He should be focused on increasing exports, or streamlining the information exchange process between developing countries. Instead all we hear in the news is hype about Christmas, Christmas, Christmas, and this Hyne-blasted parade. I'm sick of it, sick of him. I'll rid myself of him, and Esthar will go back to normal. Technology, progress, perfection. Those are the real goals, the real dream._

_There is nothing good about Christmas. I hate Santa Clause. Dreams don't come true on Christmas. I can't erase it, I can't erase Santa Clause, so instead I'll erase the man who will stand in his place tonight.

* * *

_

When Kiros and the cavalry arrived, Squall had Chester trussed up in a rather impromptu set of restraints fashioned from the faux fur ruff of his dress. Kiros and Ward led the guards up the back stairs. Ward immediately went to the controls to disable the machines that were going berserk on the factory floor and endangering the soldiers left below as a rearguard. The silence as he killed the power was sudden and absolute.

Kiros looked down at the sobbing man curled in the glass. Tied up in sparking white stole, he looked pathetic and childish. "This is the one responsible?"

"He is. Chester Stormbanks." Squall tossed Kiros the notebook. Something raw churned in his stomach, and he turned away from the boy on the floor. "He documented everything. It's enough for Esthar law enforcement to put him away for a long, long time, I'd think."

"Commander." Kiros held the book closed in his dark hand. His eyes, steady on Squall's, held a wealth of emotion that made Squall uncomfortable. "Thank you."

Squall moved his shoulders. Gratitude always made him itchy. "It's what SeeD's for."

"No." Kiros shook his head as guards hoisted Chester to his feet and clamped real restraints on his wrists. His eyes stayed level on Squall's. "It's not just duty."

Squall understood. He nodded briefly. "I understand." He looked around him. "You need help here? Cleaning up?"

"We've got it under control." Kiros gestured towards the crews of guards moving through the factory floor and securing wayward machinery. The sounds of sirens from the open back loading docks neared. "You can catch a ride back to the Palace in one of the cars, Commander. Rinoa is waiting for you."

Nodding again, Squall saluted smartly and moved past the guards working to shove the worst of the glass under a table. Ward leaned against the doorway, grinning broadly. He patted Squall on one shoulder, careful of his size and strength.

As Squall passed down the stairs, Kiros' voice called out. "Oh, and Commander?"

Squall turned back. Exhausted dragged at him, pain fogging his mind as every bruise, every cut made itself known on his abused and battered body. Humor lit Kiros' dark eyes, and his thin lips curved into an amused smile. "You might want to change before you meet with the President for debriefing. Your dress is ruined."

Glancing down, Squall remembered that he'd come running straight from the parade.

He was still wearing his Mrs. Clause dress.

* * *

~6.13.10


	12. Chapter Eleven

Author's Notes: Penultimate chapter, I swear. I didn't mean to drag this on so long. Also, nobody pointed this out, but I erroneously said in an earlier chapter than Seifer was working as a security guard at the mall in Esthar. I'd forgotten that, and in a later revision I'll either work Seifer in or delete him entirely. For now, please just bear with me.

**A Promise for Christmas  
Chapter Eleven

* * *

**

The parade had long since disassembled, the music shut off so the sounds of deconstruction and clean-up were clear in the cold, starry night air. Crews of laborers were busy along the parade route, taking down barriers and reopening the streets to pedestrian and vehicular traffic. The lights would be left until New Year's Day, a lingering reminder of the holidays. Street crews on foot and in sweepers cleared debris off the roads—confetti, shredded paper, bits of glitter and baubles shed by costumes or floats.

Squall disembarked from the police car in front of the Presidential Palace with a mumbled thanks. The officer had been more star struck than wise in Squall's presence, and his hero worship hadn't done anything to improve Squall's mood. The quick detour to the local health facility had sutured up his wounds, but the bandages were just one more reminder of the end to the night's festivities.

"Oh, and Commander?"

Squall had nearly shut the door. He leaned back down, met the officer's light brown eyes. "What is it?"

The grin was full-blown and teasing. "You look amazing in that dress."

The sound of the door slamming gave nearby clean-up crews pause. The policeman had enough presence of mind to take off with a quick squeal of tires before Squall could think to take down license plate numbers.

He toyed briefly with the idea of using Quetzacotl after all but decided it would be overkill.

It was, after all, Christmas night.

Still, Squall wasn't feeling particularly generous or festive as he trudged up the long flight of stairs to the main doors. The guards saluted smartly, and if they had any comments on his bedraggled garb, they wisely kept their mouths shut. Squall didn't care, dragging himself down the main corridor. Somewhere in his mind, he recalled Rinoa having designated a changing room for after the parade, but he couldn't remember where she'd indicated.

"Squall!"

Just as well. He turned, and there she was, running towards him. Rinoa stopped just short of full-on collision, sweeping a gaze over him. "Oh, Squall." Compassion infused her voice, and she laid a hand on his arm. She could feel tension and fatigue running through him, could see both in his eyes. But beneath them, there was something akin to misery, and it tugged at her heart.

She kept her voice light as she guided him down a side corridor. "Let's get you cleaned up and changed, Commander. Your dress has seen better days."

His tongue might have felt like lead, but it still obeyed his mental commands. "The next person, the very next person who comments on my dress, is going to die."

She giggled, drew him after her into a side room. It was a pleasantly appointed sitting room, drapes drawn across a wide bank of windows. There was an old-fashioned hearth in one wall, and a fire blazed cheerily behind a decorative brass grille. The smell of wood smoke mingled with pine boughs and cinnamon in the air. Squall couldn't quite identify why that particular mixture made him feel strangely sentimental. It must have been the exhaustion.

"You need a serious shower, Commander, but Laguna's waiting for you." Rinoa's hands were competent as she undid the fastenings in the back of the costume. "He and Ellone are in his private suite." Because she knew him, too well, she refrained from adding, _They were worried._ Ellone's worry would only add guilt to whatever burden Squall already carried. Laguna's worry would only confuse him, and Squall's reaction to confusion would be to build up those walls even higher.

What most would assume was paternal concern for a child, even one long estranged, Squall would see as Laguna Loire, President of Esthar, doubting him, Commander of Balamb Garden.

Squall stood dumbly while Rinoa undressed him as she would a child. She bundled up the ruined costume, then gave Squall a gentle nudge towards the basin of faintly steaming water on a side table. "Wash your face, Squall. There'll be time later for a real bath."

Naked, he complied, rinsing what felt like years of grime off his face and hands. The towel provided was luxuriously soft, and for a moment he stood, shoulders bowed, and pressed his face against the material.

"Squall?" Rinoa's hand touched his bare shoulder, careful to avoid the myriad of bruises and scrapes on his skin. "What's the matter?"

He lifted haunted sapphire eyes to her face. The look in them burned, stark against his pale, drawn skin. "He was just a child." His voice was a hoarse whisper, his throat raw. "A kid hiding behind political propaganda and threats. He had nothing against Laguna, nothing against the government. He had a journal in his pocket, and in it he'd written all his reasoning and all his plans. He would have killed Laguna just for standing in as Santa Claus tonight. It's not Laguna he hates. It's Christmas."

"Terrorism isn't the sole property of adults," Rinoa commented. She took the towel out of his hands, gently led him to a sofa. The impropriety of Squall setting his naked butt on the furniture in the Presidential Palace momentarily crossed her mind, but Rinoa pushed it aside, sat beside Squall. She trailed a finger along his scarred and scraped forearm as she spoke. "Whatever his reasons, you stopped him."

Squall spoke as if in a trance. "I got to the factory, and he's up in the control room, playing. Like a kid, playing with remote control toys. And I get up there, break the window and corner him, and he's screaming at me. Screaming nonsense. Hateful things." He pressed his hands against his face, and Rinoa heard a tremor of tears in his voice before he lifted his head. His eyes were filled with them, his voice thick. "He said that if he couldn't have Christmas, nobody should. If Santa wouldn't listen to him, he shouldn't listen to anyone. If he couldn't be happy, why should anyone else?"

Rinoa went with her gut and gently wrapped her arms around Squall's shaking shoulders, rocking him, murmuring to him. He clung to her, sobbing quietly, endlessly, the tears falling unchecked down his cheeks.

Whatever she'd thought Squall's aversions to Christmas were, she'd never once imagined they'd run so deep, or come out with such force.

But what else could she have expected? Squall never did anything halfway.

His tears abated slowly. Rinoa held on as long as he let her, knowing when he lifted his head his eyes might be wet with tears but the look in them would be all Commander Leonhart. To her surprise, he rubbed his face gently back and forth over her shoulder, wiping away the last of his tears, before leaning back to meet her eyes squarely.

As she'd thought, his were bright with lingering tears, but to her surprise, he didn't have his 'Commander' face on. The expression there was younger, years younger, and with such a degree of vulnerability it made her breath catch.

"I need you, Rinoa, for so many things." He lifted one scraped hand to run along her jaw. His mouth twisted, a half-smile filled with self-directed depreciation. "Sometimes I hate it, because I hate to depend on anyone. But you…" Here he fumbled for the words. "You make me right."

He didn't say "you make it all okay". He didn't tell her "you make me whole". Those would have been lies, or at the very least falsehoods of a treacherous nature.

And Rinoa understood.

She kissed him, softly, let him take the kiss deeper. Like a man with unsated hungers. Finally she leaned back, trailing a finger lightly over his shoulder. "Laguna first," she said, somewhat reluctantly. "Then let's ditch this place and get somewhere quiet." That fingertip trailed over his chest, dipped lower, teasing. "Somewhere just you and me. We have a holiday to celebrate together."

Every muscle in his body tensed, and Squall managed a choked half-laugh. "Sure." There was something he had to tell her first, but it could wait. After Laguna. "You can kiss my ouchies better."

The grin Rinoa shot him heated his blood, but she merely rose from the sofa, tossed him the change of clothes she'd laid out. "Get some pants on, Commander. We're out of skirts."

The taunting comment had the residual lust subsiding—which was just as well. Squall preferred to have a clear, focused mind when on official business, and whatever else there was between him and Laguna, this was official business.

Dressed in slacks and a sweater—in the same green as a pine bough, it wouldn't have been his first choice, but Rinoa had picked the outfit—Squall made his way to Laguna's office. Exhaustion dragged at him, weighed down his body and mind, but he forced his spine straight as he knocked perfunctorily on the open doorframe.

Ellone sat in the comfy seating arrangement, long legs crossed with a cup and saucer balanced on her knee. She rose when Squall came in, put her arms around him and held him close. "Oh, Squall." Her voice was a murmur of relief, sympathy, love. Squall shut his eyes against the torrent of emotions. "I'm so glad you're safe."

"Yeah." He hugged her back gently. _My Christmas wish,_ he thought, and very nearly smiled. Instead he lifted his gaze to where Laguna stood, back to the room, surveying the dismantling of the parade barriers on the streets below. "President Loire."

Laguna turned, and Squall was shocked to see tears on Laguna's face. "Squall." He rarely used Squall's first name, and it gave Squall a jolt now to hear it. "Thank Hyne you're safe. I've got the preliminary reports. You did a good job." He hesitated. "I didn't want to believe anything would really happen tonight, and I resisted Ellone and Kiros' badgering me to have you come. But you did, and…I'm grateful. Thank you."

Uncomfortable, Squall shrugged his shoulders. The movement dislodge Ellone's head on his shoulder, and he led her back to the sofa before crossing to take a seat in the upholstered chair across from Laguna's desk. He barely contained the groan as the cushions gave was luxuriously under bruised muscle. "The subject is in custody. I will leave the follow-up to your local law enforcement, unless you have reason to request that I do the follow-up personally."

Laguna shook his head. He remained standing, staring down at the man who was his son. He'd seen Squall countless times, here in this very office, but had he ever really _seen_ him? Guilt and regret rolled in his belly as he faced the man as he'd never faced the child. "No, you've done more than enough. Kiros said that the Disruptors are likely fully disbanded with the capture of their head."

"The Disruptors were never the main threat." Squall accepted the cup of fragrant tea Ellone brought to him, but he didn't drink. "It was Chester. It was never a political attack, though he was smart enough to disguise it as such. Kiros would have given you the diary?"

Laguna nodded. He tapped a finger against the battered notebook on his desk. "I flipped through it. The records and ramblings of a deeply unhappy child."

Squall agreed. It was sort of sad, he thought, how it had been nothing more than that. Much the way a three-year-old child would throw a temper tantrum when denied a treat, only on a much larger scale. "Regardless of how childlike his motives, his actions are those of an adult. A highly destructive, vindictive adult, one that could have and did result in untold damage in terms of property and lives. I'll have my written report on your desk within twenty-four hours, with my recommendation that he be treated and punished according to the law, no stipulations."

"Should he be punished for his disappointments?"

Laguna's question was soft, and struck a chord deep inside Squall. But Squall steeled his heart against the softening pain and met Laguna's eyes squarely. "Chester Stormbanks isn't the only one who's felt hurt and disappointment around Christmas. No, he shouldn't be punished for his feelings. But he should be held accountable for his actions."

He rose, saluted. Fatigue made his muscles tremble. "Excuse me, President."

Laguna's voice stopped Squall before he'd taken more than three steps. "You've had disappointments in your life, Squall. I'm one of them."

Squall turned to look back. Laguna stood, one hand on his desk. Messy chestnut hair fell into his misty green eyes, focused now as he stared at his son. "I don't deny that I've been a disappointment to you. To Raine. I understand that you coming out here on Christmas day wasn't your first choice of holiday, and you so rarely take vacation. Ellone tells me." His lips curved, just slightly, at that, but his eyes remained serious. "But still, you came, at Christmas."

"It's just another day." Squall moved his shoulders. Ellone, seated quietly on the sofa, teacup in hand, was forgotten. Aches and pains, the chill that lay against his bones that not even the warmth from the blazing fireplace could ease, were forgotten. Something pounded in his head, tugged at his gut, as he stared across at Laguna. "It doesn't mean anything."

Laguna shook his head. "No, I think it means too much. Chester Stormbanks wasn't the only one hurt and disappointed by Christmas. What did you ask Santa for that never came true?"

As if a magical spell had broken, anger flared through Squall, heating away the chill. "None of your business!" He snapped it out, more roughly than he'd intended. He saw Ellone start at the unexpected vehemence of his tone but kept his eyes on Laguna. "None of your business," he repeated, and turned to stalk out.

Once more Laguna's voice stopped him. "Squall. Wait. Please." Squall hesitated in the doorway. "I'm sorry."

The quiet sincerity of the words broke through the anger. Squall shook his head wearily. Words weren't enough. An apology couldn't make up for years of hurts and buried resentments. Laguna's repentance, no matter how sincere, couldn't erase years of self-doubt and insecurity.

Was I not good enough? Was I not loved? If I had been—better, stronger, smarter, faster—_more_, somehow—would I have been loved? If I could be—better, stronger, smarter, faster, _more_—would my dreams have come true?

"I know." He hadn't meant to say it, but the words slipped out. Squall faced Laguna, owing the man that much if nothing else. Years separated them more than the distance across the office, and for the first time Squall felt the distance in his heart rather than his mind. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter." Laguna stuck his hands in his pockets, a man miserable with his position. "I can't change the past. Hyne knows, I'd try if I could. But living here, being here in Esthar, I've learned one thing, and that's that you can only look forward and try, not for yesterday, but for tomorrow. I want to try."

Squall blew out a breath, surprised to find that it shuddered in his lungs, in his throat. Laguna, simple-minded, outrageous, jump-without-looking Laguna. The man from the dream world, a man who'd meant less to Squall than the homeless in Fisherman's Wharf.

His father.

Squall looked away, squinting into the flames of the fire by the sitting area. Ellone was quiet, unobtrusive, but Squall thought he could imagine how hard it was for her not to intrude on this moment. Caught, he thought. She was caught between two men she cared for deeply. Wouldn't she have wished for this reconciliation? Wouldn't she want this, more than either man himself would know or desire for it?

Would this be, for her, a Christmas wish come true?

Squall looked back, met Laguna's eyes across the distance. He couldn't make any promises, not today, not to him. He couldn't say he'd try, because Squall was too honest with himself to commit to anything he wasn't fully sure of. He couldn't say he understood, because how could he claim that when it felt like everything he knew was changing?

"I'll be here tomorrow," he said, and the slightest of smiles eased the strain on his face. "Merry Christmas, Laguna."

And as he shut the door behind him, he heard Laguna murmur the words back.

_Merry Christmas, Squall.

* * *

_

~7.19.10


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Author's Note**: Well, here it is, the final installation to _A Promise for Christmas_. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to everyone who's read and reviewed, and who has stuck with me through all the breaks and writing blocks and stumbles along the way. I did my best with this chapter, although the story certainly flowed a little differently than I'd originally had in mind when I first started all those years ago. It means a lot to me that you've read through this far, and it'd mean a lot to me if I heard from you at the end. It felt good to write this while it lasted, and now it feels good to say The End.

**A Promise for Christmas  
Chapter Twelve**

**~Final~

* * *

**

Rinoa had a bath drawn and waiting when Squall made it to the room Ellone had prepared for them. The scents of vanilla and cinnamon wafted through the air, waltzing with the quiet strains of violin music from the sound system linked throughout the rooms. Candles flickered, on tables, on counters, on the stand beside the bed, casting a warm glow across the room and turning the simple luxury into a romantic getaway.

Squall knew just what Rinoa was up to, and though he appreciated the effort, his mind kept fogging with exhaustion and he couldn't quite focus. She set aside the book she'd been reading when he came in, all but staggering, and crossed to where he stood, staring dumbly at her.

"Bath first," she decided, rising on her toes to press a gentle kiss to his mouth. She scrunched up her face. "You smell rank, Commander."

Squall let her nudge him into the bathroom, let her undress him as she had before he'd met with Laguna. He had enough in him to make a grab for her as she led him to the steaming tub. "You coming in with me?"

Rinoa shook her head. "Nope. I already cleaned up." She lifted an eyebrow and made sure the white robe she wore was snugged tight around her waist. "Besides, I'd have to take off what I've got on under this, and I was hoping you'd be able to do that for me. After your bath."

Maybe he wasn't as tired as he thought. Lust heated in his belly, and Squall grinned even as he stepped into the tub. The heat of the water coursed through him, had him hissing in welcome shock as he lowered himself into the oversized tub. "Hyne, this feels good. I always thought baths were overrated."

She smiled, balanced on the edge of the tub, and let her hand play with his tangled hair. "There's wine in the cooler. Want some?"

Squall shook his head, settled deeper so water lapped at his chin. "You going to ask?"

Rinoa shrugged. She and Ellone had had plenty of time to talk while Squall was gone, and she had a fair idea of what had happened in Laguna's office. "You want to tell me about it?"

"I told him 'Merry Christmas'." Squall related, in bits and pieces, what he and Laguna had said, but he hesitated, trying to put into words the feelings that had come over him unexpectedly in Laguna's office. "It was…I don't know, Rinoa. Like something was waking up inside of me. Weird, but…not really all bad."

Smiling, Rinoa trailed a finger over Squall's shoulder. "You've gone a long time without having anyone there for you, as a parent figure. You've lived most of your life without wanting that. Guidance, protection, support. Someone to be proud of you." He turned his head to meet her eyes, and she nodded. "He was worried about you. Pacing his office, listening to the radio. If he could have crossed the distance to be with you through sheer force of will, he would have done it."

Vaguely uncomfortable with the knowledge, Squall shrugged. The movement pulled at sore muscles, and he stifled a groan, stretching out his legs and letting his head fall back against the cushion. The heat was slowly working away at the tension, easing the aches and fatigues of the day. "I never cared about my parents." The heat, the sleepiness that ensued, lowered his defenses. "As a kid in the orphanage, I never wondered about who my mom or dad was, why I'd been abandoned, how I came to be one of Matron's kids. I mean, I sometimes thought about it. Was I a bad kid, did my parents hate me? It was always self-recriminating. Was I a failure, is that why they didn't want me? The other kids weren't like that. They'd talk about it sometimes, like, I wonder what my dad did, or I wonder if my mom was famous. But I never cared about who my parents were. I never felt deprived, because I had Ellone."

He paused, surprised as much as Rinoa by his sudden volunteering of information. But he knew he had to get it all out, knew he could, and with Rinoa, she would understand. "We called her Sis, because she was the oldest of us, and she was always taking care of us. It was Sis who bandaged my injuries when Seifer beat on me, Sis who sat with me when I got sick with the flu, Sis who played with me when the other kids would run and call me names. I loved her, I think, the only way I knew how. Not in a romantic sense, but…" He fumbled, frowning, searching for the right words.

"You loved her," Rinoa said, quietly. She understood. "Ellone has this way about her that makes you want to love her."

Grateful, he nodded. "She was everything to me. Best friend, older sister, mother. She was always there, no matter what happened. When she left…" He brought a fist to his heart, felt his own steady pulse, but he was blind and deaf to it, lost in memories of a childhood long past. "Everyone missed her, but it was deeper than that for me. I was lost, and for the first time, I felt abandoned. Not unwanted, because I knew it wasn't that she didn't love me. But abandoned, cast aside. I wrote to Santa about her."

Here, Rinoa thought, sitting up a little straighter. Here was the source of all that bottled-up misery, the resentment. The reason he hates Christmas. "You asked Santa?"

"I stole paper from Matron, and a stamp, and I wrote a letter to Santa Claus, addressed it to the North Pole. I told him I'd been good that year, and I asked him to bring Sis back to me." His voice didn't choke, didn't break, and despite the tightness of his throat, didn't catch. "I wrote to him for years, and every year on Christmas morning I faced the same disappointment, because it never came true. By the time I left for Balamb Garden to start training, I'd stopped writing, because I'd stopped believing. Santa Claus was no more real than Pupu, I thought, or Griever, or any of the mythical beasts in the stories Matron used to tell us. Santa Claus didn't make your dreams come true, and Christmas was nothing but a lie, a heartbreak, a time of misery and shattered hopes."

Rinoa wanted to hug him, just squeeze him until the desolation flowed out of him as easily as the tears that sparkled on her cheeks. "Oh, Squall. You were so young."

"Age had nothing to do with it." He moved his shoulders. "Christmas hurt me, more than anything in my entire life. And so I hated it. I hated it as a defense mechanism, built up the walls to protect myself against it, and I told myself it didn't matter, it didn't mean anything. Told myself it was stupid and pointless, just another day in an endless string of days. And every year I had to pretend not to know I was lying to myself, and that Christmas meant more to me than anything."

The tears were flowing faster now. Rinoa wiped the heel of her palm over her face. "You tried to hide?"

It grated on him, but Squall nodded. "Denial, anger, depression, despair. The seven stages of grief, isn't it?" He pretended not to notice the shock on Rinoa's face that he would know something like that. He tried not to care about the prescribed order of things as frivolous as the recovery stages of grief and loss and that nonsense. "But things change. Things changed for me."

Rinoa let the silence lengthen, stretch as pliable as Shumi elastic putty, until a smile touched her lips. "Pupu is real," she said at length. "And so is Griever."

"And so is Christmas." Squall scooted up in the tub so he could meet her eyes. "I told you earlier I had something to tell you. I had to tell you all this first, get it out of the way, but I'm ready to tell you now." She gave a barely perceptible nod, her heart skipping in her chest. The way his eyes held hers, midnight sapphires speaking of truth and secrets, had her holding her breath.

"Things changed," he repeated. "You changed them for me. You make Christmas real. You said there's magic at Christmas, and I still don't want to believe it. There's too much there for me to say, yeah, sure, magic. Santa Claus, dreams come true, that innocent trust that your hopes will never go unfulfilled. Magic at Christmas isn't something that's just out there, like a spell you can draw. For me, magic at Christmas is you." He watched the tears flood her eyes, watched them spill over like beauty. "You're Christmas to me, Rinoa. You're everything I'd ever wanted at Christmas. You're my Christmas wish."

"Squall." His name was choked, a desperate anchor Rinoa clung to as she repeated it, over and over. Water sloshed as he wrapped his arms around her, held her tight. He didn't cry, but stroked her hair as her tears slid over his skin, a healing balm on scars unseen by the naked eye.

When her tears abated, Squall shifted, standing with her in his arms. He strode out of the bathroom, ignoring the wet he tracked across the plush carpet, and took her to bed. Here, in the room that smelled of cinnamon and pine trees, they loved in the flickering glow of countless candles. This, Squall thought as Rinoa moved over him, this was real. This was hope.

Afterwards, they lay cuddled together in the rumpled sheets. Rinoa's robe lay in a discarded tangle at her feet, and the fancy lingerie she'd had on underneath lay in tatters on the floor. Squall drowsed, his arms around her, basking in the warmth.

Rinoa shifted so she could look down at him, propped on her elbows. He looked so content, she thought, and reluctantly poked his shoulder. "Squall, open your eyes." He mumbled in protest, arms tightening as he tried to draw her closer and shush her words. She had to smile at that. Under normal circumstances, she'd have let him quiet her with a little cuddle, but not today. Not tonight. "Squall, I'm serious."

On a stifled groan, he opened one eye, blearily. "I'm sleeping here, Princess."

"Wake up." She poked him again, harder, and giggled as he scowled, opening both eyes. The expression in them was sleepy satisfaction, drowsy pleasure, but she had to get this out. "I told you I had another Christmas present to give you, remember?"

He vaguely remembered, though it seemed like years ago that they'd exchanged gifts in General Caraway's house that morning. Just that morning. His grin was wicked. "Didn't I just get my Christmas gift?" He shifted to peer over the edge at the bed at the ripped lace and silk. "I think I destroyed it."

Rinoa laughed, amused despite herself at the smug tone of his voice. "No, that wasn't it. Well, maybe that was part of it. But there's more."

His eyebrow winged up, and his hands roamed over her body. Warmth infused his voice. "There's more? You'll have to give me a minute here, then, to catch my breath."

She slapped his hands away. Squall would keep going all night long if she let him, she thought, both amused and aroused. "Hands off a minute, would you?" She huffed out a breath as he subsided, watching her. Embarrassment moved through her as she sought the words. No matter how many times she'd practiced in her head, nothing sounded quite right. "You told me, earlier, you told me that I was your Christmas. Your Christmas wish."

"That's right." Curious now, intrigued, Squall cocked his head. "You don't like?"

Her cheeks pinked. "No, I like it just fine. I like it a lot. And I…I want to reciprocate."

He blinked. "You aren't putting me in bows and ribbons."

The mental image had her choking back a giggle. "I think I'm good. I've already seen you in a dress." His scowl was instant and heartfelt, and Rinoa couldn't hold back the laugh. "I'll stop. I have a Christmas present to give you, Commander, but it's not something wrapped in paper and ribbon. Not something you can see. I want to give it to you in the true spirit of giving, and I want you to accept it the same. It's the thought that counts."

Squall, sensing the seriousness of the matter, eased back against the pillows, scowl fading. Rinoa's eyes were dark, focused on his, and she nibbled at her bottom lip the way she did when she was really concentrating. "All right."

"All right." Rinoa sucked in a breath, let it out. She pressed her hand against his heart, feeling it beat steady and sure beneath her palm. Her eyes never wavered from his. "I want to give you a present, Squall. Just these words, and I want you to believe in it with everything you have. Everything you are."

"Words."

She nodded once, brought his hand to her heart, so he could feel the synchronized beating of their hearts. Pressed his palm against her chest so he would know her heart beat for him. "I'd thought about this for a long time, but things have changed since you told me…since you just told me about your Christmas memories. So instead I'll just say this."

She sucked in a breath, smiled at him. "I want to give you a promise, Squall. A promise for Christmas. I promise to be your Christmas wish and every dream come true. Every year, for as long as you want me. For as long as you'll have me." _For the rest of my life. 'Til death do us part._

Something shivered through him, more than love, bigger than hope. Something that had tears rising against the backs of his eyes so they pulsed, hot and threatening. _A Christmas promise. His Christmas wish. His dream come true._

He slid his arms around her, held her close, and let the tears fall. "You're everything I've ever wanted, Rinoa. Everything I never knew I wanted." He buried his face in her hair. _For the rest of my life. Until the day that I die. _"You're my Christmas, Rinoa. You're my everything."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, held him close, blinking tears out of her eyes. "I can't go back in time," she murmured. "I can't change all the bad that happened to you. I can't erase the hurt, but I can balance it. From now on, Squall, Christmas is for you and me." She met his eyes, smiled a little. "From now on, Christmas will be good."

Magical. Squall's lips curved in response to hers. "All right," he agreed. "From now on." Starting today, he thought. Starting now. For her, he'd suffer through Christmas shopping and Christmas carols, tinsel and parades. But…"One thing," he cautioned, serious as she lifted an eyebrow. "Next year, _you_ can be Mrs. Claus."

Rinoa's laugh pealed out, delighted. She let Squall roll her under him, and they made love as the distant city clock chimed midnight, and the end of Christmas.

_I promise, Squall. I promise._

_Merry Christmas.

* * *

_~7.23.10


End file.
